


Far From the Tree

by Pelydryn



Series: All the ANGST [6]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Dark, Despair, Father-Son Relationship, Guilt, Hopeful Ending, Hypocrisy, Kink Meme, Kinks of Camelot, M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed, Obsession, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Uther/Balinor mentioned only
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-15 17:39:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13618359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pelydryn/pseuds/Pelydryn
Summary: Following the Great Dragon’s rampage and his father's death, Merlin struggles with guilt and despair. He uses magic to help himself cope, but that decision is not without ramifications, especially when his unlikely survival attracts the king's attention.Many years ago, Uther had a twisted obsession with his friend, the dragonlord Balinor. When Uther realises who Merlin is, he is eager to continue with the son what he started with the father.Arthur is expected to follow his father in all things, even into hypocrisy. After he learns of Merlin's betrayal and his father's secrets, the choices he will be forced to make will have far-reaching consequences.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Onasariel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onasariel/gifts).



> This story is being written for a prompt (https://kinksofcamelot.livejournal.com/1806.html?thread=33294#t33294) at the new Merlin kink meme (https://kinksofcamelot.livejournal.com). It has a different focus than the original prompt, but is being written with the prompter’s blessing. The original title on the kink meme was "Two Fathers" but has been changed to reflect the saying, "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."
> 
> The story is dark and full of angst. There is noncon and torture. If you don't like that, please don't read it! Please heed the tags and warnings.
> 
> I have edited this fic, but since it's just supposed to be quick and for fun, I haven't agonised over making it perfect. Hopefully there won't be any errors/inconsistencies/stupid things, but if there are, I apologise. 
> 
> For Ona, who is a great cheerleader!
> 
> PS. Ao3 isn't letting my html work for some reason. That's why the web addresses are also in parentheses.

It was done. At last the Great Dragon was defeated. 

The whole episode had been terrible, heartbreaking, devastating from start to finish. The horror of the Knights of Medhir invading while everyone slept… it had been a nightmare come to life, the kind where the enemy chases you down and for some reason you can't move—but this was real, and the cursed sleep had tried to claim him. There was no doubt that had he succumbed, his waking would have been on the lifeless side of the veil. 

Then there had been Morgana’s treachery; Merlin implicitly understood that a sleeping spell that powerful could only be achieved with a consenting vessel. Poisoning the woman he had once considered a friend tore him up like a vicious dog ripping into a rabbit… or a small child.

The decision to release the dragon had been a horrible one to make; deep down he knew it could not go well. Then the true devastation of this decision became apparent: dozens killed, buildings destroyed, his friends in peril, his prince injured… It was more than he could possibly bear. And yet his body didn't give out, his heart didn't stop its pointless beating, his mind kept on existing, leaving him alone with guilt and sorrow. 

He might have tried to end it then, had he not felt such a strong responsibility to make things right. What use was all the magic crammed inside of him if it could do nothing to help his friends? If merely possessing meant facing terrible decisions and having to live with their gruesome consequences? But despite his general uselessness and the complete disaster that was his magic, he still needed to try. He still needed to do what he could to rectify his mistakes. 

Of course that attempt had just lead to disaster of an even more personal kind. To find his father, to know him, but only for a day… to watch his father sacrifice himself for Merlin's sake, because Merlin was a gods forsaken screwup... He should have used his magic immediately and blasted those soldiers all the way back to their putrid king. He could have, he should have, but he didn't. And so his father had died and it was all Merlin's fault, all of it, everything from the dragon to his incompetent fighting and the completely selfish desire to protect the secrecy of his power… And to what purpose? His magic being secret wouldn't help Arthur if the prince were dead, which was looking more and more likely as the dragon fight progressed. 

He had finally ended it, but it was too little, too late, of course. Merlin stood before the dragon and commanded the ancient creature as his father and forefathers had done. It did nothing to bring back the dead, nor did it alleviate any of the sorrow that settled over the entirety of Camelot. When he summoned forth the words, words that his dead father had whispered into his heart, the sadness had increased even more. To have his father so close, inside his very soul, and yet irrevocably gone…

Merlin had been merciful to Kilgharrah, but when he flew away, the dragon took all of that mercy with him. There was none left with which to absolve Merlin of his crimes.

When Arthur regained consciousness, it was painfully easy to spin another tale, an implausible explanation about him dealing the dragon a mortal blow. And wasn't that another sorrow wrapping its venomous tentacles around Merlin’s heart? Everything he did was for Arthur, everything was done out of a great and terrible love, a love that would someday rip him apart. Everything was for Arthur, but Merlin could only weave a web of lies around him, a poisonous spider immobilising its prey with deceit and betrayal. 

Arthur laughed with joy when Merlin spun his tale of the dragon’s defeat. It was easy, too easy: look how words, look how lies could manipulate someone's emotions, look how they could create an entire alternate reality. 

They stood together, just the two of them, side by side. Arthur's laugh was infectious and it stole into Merlin's heart, trying to convince him to relax into the relief of victory. But Merlin would not let it. There was no victory, no triumph for Merlin—nothing but despair. 

The moment passed, and the two of them went to check on the knights who had accompanied them to fight the dragon. All dead, of course, except for Leon. And wasn't that just more to add to Merlin's account? The people he had failed were as plentiful as desiccated leaves scattered in the autumn wind. 

By the time they reached the castle, Merlin had gone numb. It was the only way to keep moving, to keep putting one foot in front of the other. If he stopped to think—or worse, to _feel_ —he would be crushed into the earth by the weight of his despair. 

He wrapped the numbness around himself like a blanket, a protection against the cold cruelty of a world that wanted to pull him apart and destroy him utterly. When Arthur tried to get a rise out of him, Merlin was as serene as a frozen pond, nary a ripple of response. 

Arthur sent him home that night uncharacteristically early. 

Merlin ignored Gaius’ attempts to engage him; anything so trivial as communication felt frivolous and unimportant. He went to bed without eating or changing his clothing, just threw himself on the uncomfortable mattress and willed himself to cease existing. 

In the morning he awoke to a maelstrom of emotion, heart pounding out of control, tears streaming from his eyes. It was like waking from a nightmare, but deep down he knew it was a terror that he could never escape from. He called his magic to him, pulled it from its despondency, and demanded that it ease his pain. He directed its full force at his heart—and it all stopped: the sorrow, the pain, the guilt, the inadequacy. 

Just like that, it was all gone. 

True, he felt like an empty shell… an empty shell that had once held a rotten egg, but the slime had been scoured out and nothing remained. And nothingness couldn't hurt, wouldn't rip him apart from the inside out. He'd already been ripped to decaying pieces, but the magic cleared those away and now all was… not well, exactly, but neutral, and that was good enough. 

He would gladly have stayed that way forever, and he might have, had the incident with Uther never happened. A week passed, two, three. He would have had to be completely blind not to notice that the king was watching him more, in council meetings and formal dinners, and even in the corridors of the castle. But what of it? Nothing mattered anymore; nothing could bother him, for there was nothing left of him to bother. He just followed Arthur's and Gaius’ orders without complaint, not offering opinion or commentary or sass of any sort. Because that would mean he was a person, and if he were a person he would _feel_ , and he could not go back to that. Never. 

And if Arthur and Gaius and Gwen frowned at him more than normal, it was only to be expected. Wasn't all of Camelot grieving, both for the loss of the Lady Morgana and the devastation caused by the dragon’s rampage?

Even the night that Uther summoned him to his chambers, long after Arthur had retired for the evening, even then Merlin did not care. There was nothing left of him with which to care. And that was just the way he liked it.


	2. Chapter 2

When Merlin arrived at the king's chambers, the normal guard stood on duty in the hallway. A second guard showed him to the antechamber where the king normally met with guests. Uther’s manservant Silas was present, though there was no sign of the king himself. 

The old Merlin might have been unsettled, wondering what this was all about. But that Merlin was gone, banished into the abyss, and this Merlin didn't care one way or the other. 

“The king will be along shortly,” Silas said. “Would you like a drink while you wait? There is some wine left from supper, and His Majesty will never drink anything that's been open longer than an hour.”

Arthur had never been quite so picky, though perhaps that was to his servants’ detriment. It seemed that Uther’s staff regularly finished off the fine wines when their master was not there. 

Merlin wasn't thirsty, but Silas pressed a goblet into his hand; Merlin sipped at it, more out of habit than anything. It was uncommonly good, far better than anything he ever drank with Gaius. Even the few times that Merlin had shared a drink with Arthur, it hadn't been quite so alluring as this. It was warm and fruity like raspberries eaten straight from the vine on a hot summer’s day. 

Though he hadn't wanted it, the wine was so good he drank it quickly. Silas offered him the rest of the bottle, and the two of them sat together, drinking and discussing the art of being a royal manservant. Well, Silas discussed it; Merlin sat quietly, making only the most minimal of comments. 

In the past Merlin had been uncomfortable around the other manservant; he had the feeling that Silas had judged him and found him wanting. Today, though, things seemed backwards. Merlin sat calmly, not feeling, not worrying, not caring whether he was being judged or not; and it was Silas that filled the room with pointless chatter. If it were Gwen, Merlin would have said she was nervous. But Silas had never been anything other than professional and composed. 

The wine settled into Merlin's muscles, warming and relaxing them. It was quite pleasant, and for the first time in weeks, he felt something beyond frozen emptiness. It was purely a physical sensation, unable to affect his emotions, but it made him feel strangely alive in a way he wasn't sure he appreciated. Life meant pain, and was therefore unwelcome. 

An hour passed before Uther finally arrived. As soon as the door handle rattled, Silas and Merlin jumped up from their chairs to await the king. They both bowed as he entered. 

“I trust all is taken care of, Silas?” The king's voice sounded unconcerned, but it struck Merlin as affected and Uther glanced sharply at Silas as he said it. 

“Yes, Your Majesty. As we discussed.”

“Good, good, you may go. No, wait—I’d like some wine first.”

Silas scuttled around the room like a crab hurrying to shelter. He opened a new bottle, served the king, and made his escape as quickly as possible. Merlin sympathised. There was a time when he would have been eager to leave just as quickly. 

But now Merlin didn't give a damn. Not about anything. 

It was not until he’d drunk most of his wine that Uther addressed him. “I've been watching you, Merlin. I have to say I was impressed when you accompanied Arthur to slay the dragon. I've not met many servants with such courage and loyalty. I find it perplexing. Almost… unbelievable.”

Merlin wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, so he said nothing.

“I've been trying to figure you out. What is it that would prompt a hapless, incompetent servant to follow his master to certain death? I can't think of anything… Unless he knew that it wouldn't actually be certain death.”

There was something about this conversation that didn't quite make sense. Merlin's stomach tensed with the sensation he had once associated with fear, but though his body registered it and his mind noticed, he still felt nothing. For there was nothing left of him with which to feel.

Merlin might not feel fear anymore, but intellectually he knew he needed to respond to the king carefully.

“I have complete faith in the prince, Your Highness. He is a superb fighter, and I never doubted that he would come away victorious.”

Uther nodded and took a sip of his wine. He sat rigidly in his chair and appeared extremely alert. All his attention was focused on Merlin. For his part, Merlin stood stiffly with his head bowed and wished for a dismissal. He was tired and this meeting was strange and he just wanted to go to bed. Arthur needed him up early tomorrow to pack for a hunt. At this rate Merlin would get no sleep at all. 

“Where did you say you were from, again? Oh, that's right. Ealdor. Didn't your dear mother came and ask for assistance? I knew someone in Ealdor once, you know. Actually, he reminds me a lot of you.”

This was all said in a calculated tone; there was no doubt that Uther knew damn well where Merlin was from. Merlin felt his muscles tense with the desire to flee. His physical body knew to worry, even if his mind refused to. 

Uther pointed to the chair next to him, saying, “Do sit down. You look like you're about to fall over.”

Merlin had no desire to sit with the king and was reluctant to move. Though now that it was mentioned, he did feel unsteady on his feet—and it wasn't worth angering the king. He stepped towards the chair, but it was like moving through treacle. His muscles were strangely unresponsive, almost as numb as his heart. He was lucky to not tip over. 

“He was my friend once. That man who went to Ealdor. I thought him loyal and true. He fascinated me, for he was a dragonlord and could command dragons the way I do servants. He held immense power yet willingly laid it at my feet. Why he would do that?”

Oh. This was bad. Nothing good could come of a conversation about dragonlords. 

“I wondered at the mystery. Here was a man that could order his dragon to destroy Camelot, who could wrest my kingship from me with barely an effort, but instead served and protected me. I didn't understand. I knew he must have an ulterior motive, but I could not see it.”

Uther stood, leaving his goblet on the table, and walked over to the fire in the grate. He stared at it a long moment. Merlin tried to stand too, but his body was about as sturdy as mush. Something was wrong, horribly wrong. What the hell had been in that wine? 

“Over time I thought that if I could just possess him, claim him as my own… maybe I could understand him. And if I but understood… it felt as if all the secrets of magic and power might be unveiled to me. It was an obsession, but one I could do nothing about.”

It was disconcerting to feel the physical sensations of panic without an accompanying emotional response. Merlin could feel his pulse throbbing throughout his body, faster, wilder. 

“It was the dragonlord himself that taught me the way to combat evil magic. Drugs that would immobilise magic. Collars that would choke the power at its source. How to chain a feral dragon. Together we worked to build a golden kingdom, a kingdom free of evil.”

Merlin wanted to speak, but his mouth had gone so dry he couldn't produce more than an incomprehensible squeak. Whether it was from the obviously-drugged wine or his body's physical panic, he couldn't tell. 

“When Ygraine could not conceive a child, the dragonlord stood by me. He encouraged me to seek out Nimueh, despite Gaius’ reluctance. At the time I thought he was just as attached to the idea of an heir as I was. That his desire for an heir of his own made him sympathetic to my cause.”

As he said this, Uther looked intently at Merlin, eyebrow quirked, a smirk on his lips. _He knows, oh gods, he knows what I am. I have to get out of here._

Merlin focused on his magic, pulling it into his center. He would force his power into his limbs and leave, now, flee before Uther had him killed. But the magic slipped away from him like water spilling through loose fingers.

“But after Ygraine died, I saw him for what he was: a traitor who had killed my wife, a sorcerer who was plotting against me, the very personification of evil. All of magic was evil: all it led to was destruction and despair. And what is a dragon if not a giant killing machine? The world would be better off without them—all of them, the sorcerers, dragons, and dragonlords alike. If I could do but this one thing to avenge my beloved wife, I would do it. I would leave my son a legacy of justice.”

Merlin stared at Uther. He was mad, entirely mad. To turn on his friends and loyal servants so quickly, and to do it so easily without hesitation or uncertainty… Was this insanity caused by grief? Or something more insidious? Had the king harboured evil deep in his soul, and his wife's death was just the right excuse to let it run free?

“I hesitated with the dragonlord, though. I still wondered what secrets he could show me if I spared his life. I hesitated, and he went into hiding, taking his dragon with him. He fled to plot evil deeds and conspire against me. 

“I learned from my mistake, and did not hesitate again. I rained fire and steel upon my enemies, everyone and everything tainted with magic’s corruption. All that remained were blood-drenched bones and ashes. But one man eluded me; one man had escaped my net, and he was the one I desired most. I had to have him.”

Merlin knew the story of how Balinor and Kilgharrah had been betrayed by Uther, but hearing it from the madman's mouth was a different experience entirely. He wanted to yell back into the past, beg his father to not be fooled. But there was nothing he could do. At this point Merlin was incapable of even scratching his own nose. His muscles were mush, and if not for the arms and back of the chair he sat in, he would have toppled to the floor.

Merlin’s body and emotions might both be numb, but he could still think. There was no way that Uther would willingly let him walk away after having told him all this, even if he didn't know what Merlin was. He ought to be worried. 

But mostly Merlin just didn't care. 

He knew he should; he knew nothing good could happen here with Uther. But Merlin also knew he had many sins to atone for. And now that he had let his magic scour him out until there was nothing left of him but the emptiness, what good could he do for anyone? 

“It was pathetically easy to let my ‘regret’ be known to all of Camelot, how I wished to repair the damage I had, in my great grief, wrought upon magic. It was simple to claim that Ygraine’s death had temporarily blinded me, but that now I had recovered I was horrified by what I had done and wished to make amends. I let it spread that I wanted to apologise to my former friend, to beg forgiveness and make amends. I can't believe the fool fell for it.”

Merlin's brain screamed at him to run, run, far away. But without the emotional force behind the knowledge, the impact of the message was weak. It's possible that even at that point, with the drugged wine flowing liberally through his body, he might have been able to break through the paralysis that had seized hold of his magic. But the motivation was lacking, and the moment passed by. 

“He arrived with his dragon and never suspected a thing. And he himself had taught me the poisons to bring down dragonlord and dragon both. Highly effective, I would say. Wouldn't you agree?”

Merlin didn't respond, couldn't respond, though if he could, he would have spit in the bastard's face. 

Uther laughed. “The poison only attacks magic. Someone like Silas could drink bucketfuls and suffer no effects. Your reaction to it has condemned you. The ingredients are rare, or I might have used it to test everyone in Camelot. But with you… I don't know how I didn't see it before. You look so very much like him.”

Did he? No one had ever compared him to his father before, at least not like this. It might have been nice to learn this from someone who _didn't_ wish to exploit their similarities.

Uther came to stand over Merlin, put a hand on each of his cheeks, yanked his face upwards, and kissed him. It was a terrible kiss, all biting teeth and thrusting tongue. Merlin gagged with it, but Uther didn't pull back for several minutes. When he did, he had a dopey smile on his face. 

“You taste just like him. I had him once, and it was an experience I can never forget. I could taste the magic, in his mouth, in his seed… It tasted like ambrosia, and its promise of power and ecstasy seeped into the very fibre of my being. It was intoxicating, and I could not get enough.”

Uther had to be insane. Merlin had never heard of anyone being able to taste magic. It was undoubtedly only in his head… and yet, that wouldn't matter if the king believed it true. 

Uther leaned back towards him. Merlin expected another brutal kiss, but instead the king chomped violently on his upper lip. He would have screamed with the pain of it, had be been able to, but the drugs had done their work well. Then Uther began to suck on the place where his teeth had sliced Merlin's lip. He sucked and sucked at that spot, and Merlin realised that the king was _drinking his blood_. He tried to pull away in disgust, but he had no control over body or magic. It was all as frozen as his heart had been. 

“Fuck, you're intoxicating. More potent then your father, even… I can't wait to share you with Arthur… Show him the true secrets of power…”

Merlin was empty; there was nothing left of him to hurt—but Arthur… Arthur was still whole. Arthur still had feelings and dreams, honour and devotion. Camelot needed him to be the strong, noble leader that he was. But if he joined into his father's madness, he would be irrevocably damaged. There would be no chance for a golden age of Albion. It was imperative that Arthur stay away. 

At last Uther pulled back, away from Merlin. There was blood on his lips, but his tongue licked it away quickly. 

“Delightful. Utterly delightful. Your father was a revelation, and I knew then that I would never be able to kill him—but sometimes it is enough to contain evil instead of destroying it. Like with the dragon… The two of them, the dragon and its lord, the crown jewels of my collection. Proof of my dominance even over the Old Religion, proof that all of Albion would lie at my feet. Proof that I was master of all.”

He had gone mad. But it hadn't been from grief, as Merlin had thought, or at least that was not all it was. Uther had gone mad with power. 

“He escaped, though—I know he had help, and to this day it eats at me. He fled to Ealdor. My men chased him there, but after that he disappeared. I had thought him gone forever. When Arthur went to bring him back… oh, how delighted I was, to have my prize returned to me. But then to hear he was killed protecting a worthless servant… You are lucky I had suspicions about you, boy, after you survived the dragon, suspicions about what you were; otherwise I might have killed you as revenge for the dragonlord’s death. But you shall still be punished, mark my words…”

Uther abruptly heaved Merlin out of the chair and tossed him over his shoulder. Merlin flopped like a child's doll, completely unable to control his muscles in any way. Uther strode through the antechamber, through a small dining area, and into a private library that Merlin had never seen before. The king pressed against a certain shelf, and that whole section of books swung out. Behind it was a hidden door they immediately went through. On the other side was a windowless chamber with a large bed. Uther dropped Merlin onto it. He pulled the bookshelf back to its normal position from the inside and then shut and locked the door to the secret room. 

A few candles lit the room. Merlin could see various items that he would rather ignore: chains and ropes, flasks of unknown substances, tools that looked like they belonged in a torture chamber, hooks on the walls and ceiling—and there, hanging on the wall opposite the bed was a portrait of a man who looked a lot like Merlin. 

_Father._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains torture and noncon. Please tread carefully!

Uther saw Merlin staring at the portrait on the wall. He held a candle up and gazed at it too. 

“I had this portrait commissioned to mark the occasion of Balinor’s ascension to the nobility. He had served me well, or so I thought. I knighted him and declared him official Court Dragonlord of Camelot. After his treachery was discovered, I had the portrait removed from public viewing. It hung in my private chambers, where I could gaze on it as much as I wished.”

Uther set the candle down on the table under the portrait, lighting it up. 

“After Balinor's escape from the dungeon, I knew I would need a secret, more secure place for when I recaptured him. I'm not sure who, but someone in my court betrayed me. I could not risk losing Balinor in the same way again. Next time I swore that no one would know where he was or that he was even captured at all. Less chance of little birds opening their squawking mouths that way.”

It was bizarre for Merlin to listen to the mad king say such horrible things and not react emotionally. He had to hand it to his magic; it certainly had done a fine job of destroying his capacity for feeling. Merlin's body felt tense, aching despite the numbness, and he knew it was a physical response in line with how his emotions would normally react in such a situation. But Merlin’s mind remained calm, free to analyse the king’s ravings. He came up with more questions than conclusions. 

Had Uther suspected Gaius of helping Balinor? If Merlin said the wrong thing, would Uther realise who had betrayed him? Was Gaius in danger now, just for being Merlin's mentor? What would Gaius think when Merlin didn't come home? What would Uther tell him?

And what of Arthur? Would he come and partake in his father's madness? Would he feel betrayed by Merlin and wish for revenge, despite the closeness that had been developing between them, at least before Merlin had destroyed everything?

“Your father was such a handsome man. You are much alike; I'm not sure how I missed the connection before. Though he was sturdier, stockier; I always thought he'd be able to take a good beating without too much trouble.”

Uther sat on the bed and arranged Merlin's limbs like one might a cadaver’s. Once finished, he picked up Merlin's left arm and ran his hands along it, feeling at the bone underneath. Merlin's instinct screamed at him to pull away, but he had no strength and all he could manage was a tiny jerk. Uther stroked the arm down to the hand and studied Merlin's fingers. 

“You, on the other hand, seem quite… breakable.” 

He grabbed Merlin's index finger in both his hands and wrenched. The bone snapped with a sharp crack. 

Pain flared from the broken finger through his arm and towards his heart. He screamed, and despite the drugs, the sound burst from his mouth and bounced off the stone walls of the chamber. He gave a violent jerk, and at last he succeeded in moving: he pulled his hand out of Uther’s grasp and lay it against his torso. Tears leaked from his eyes. 

“As I was saying, you are more breakable than your father. Less like a bull and more like the bird you were named for. I am looking forward to breaking you, boy.”

Uther reached for Merlin's other hand, and snapped the index finger there as well. This time when Merlin screamed, the candles in the room flared and went dark. Several items fell to the floor with a crash. 

“That's not possible!” Uther’s voice filled the darkness with surprise and outrage. He fumbled until he managed to undo the lock and exit the room. He shut the door behind him, leaving Merlin alone in the inky blackness. 

Merlin had no control of his magic, despite its flare-up. But he was damn well going to try to use it. He summoned all his energy and demanded it come to his aid. Uther would be back soon, and there was no way Merlin was going to sit here and wait for him like a roasted quail served at a feast. 

But the shock of the pain had worn off, and the dullness of his emotional state didn't lend itself to dramatic feats of magic. He pushed, he pulled, he yanked and tore at it. But all he managed was to knock a few more things from the walls. They clattered on the stone floor and fell still.

Before he could try again, the door to the chamber creaked open and light flickered in. Uther had returned; Merlin had failed. 

Uther held both a candle and a handful of something silver that shone golden in the candlelight. He set the candle down and then leaned over the bed, a twisted smirk on his face. Merlin fought to move his muscles, to get away, but all he managed were a few uncontrolled jerks. It was pitiful. 

Uther held up the silver thing in his hand, showing it to Merlin. It was a long, thin chain made from what appeared to be silver, though Merlin doubted that was all it was made of. At the very least, it was crawling with magic; as he looked at it he could see faint light pulsing through the links like blood through the veins. 

“It likes you.” Uther’s voice sounded almost awed. “I've never seen it actually glow before. Even your father couldn't bring it to life, even when he was holding it. And after drinking that much of that wine, you shouldn't have been able to use magic for a week. Just how powerful are you?”

Merlin could only glare at him, hoping that contempt and disgust showed clearly on his face; it was hard to be sure between the effects of the drugs and his numbed emotions. 

“It was Balinor who taught me to use this to bind evil sorcerers without killing them. So they could have a fair trial, you see. But now that I know the truth, that all sorcerers are evil, I haven't needed it. I don't need to bind someone I've killed.

“But you— You are a special case. I plan on keeping you for a long, long time. Just like I would have done with your father.”

Uther placed the chain down next to the candle, and then hung a long rope over a hook in the ceiling. He tied one end of the rope around Merlin's wrists, so tightly that it cut into his skin like a knife. His hands prickled and felt like they were swelling until they must split open and spill their contents, and the broken fingers felt like they'd been placed directly into a fire. This feeling only worsened when Uther pulled on the end of the rope that dangled from the hook in the ceiling, hauling Merlin off the bed by the rope round his wrists. When he was completely suspended, hanging from the hook, Uther grunted in satisfaction. 

The pain in Merlin's wrists as he was hoisted into the air boiled up into a furious burning before slowly settling into a more tolerable but still horrible throbbing sensation. His body was limp, and he was unable to hold his head up. It flopped down towards his chest, putting extra strain on his neck and shoulders. Breathing was strained, and he quickly felt lightheaded with the lack of oxygen. 

Uther tied the free end of the rope to an iron ring embedded in the stone wall. He tugged to make sure it was secure, then came and pushed Merlin on the chest, causing him to swing back and forth like a bell that had just stopped ringing (or a hanging corpse that had just stopped living… but Merlin yanked his mind away from that analogy as soon as possible).

“Good, good. Now a bit more wine, just in case. Can't have any more trouble.”

Merlin did not want more wine. He vowed to spit it out into Uther’s face. But he had no chance at all. Uther picked up one of the flasks from a table, tilted Merlin's head backwards, and poured the liquid in. Merlin refused to swallow, but Uther pinched his nose shut and clamped his hand over Merlin's mouth, suffocating him. Even so he wanted to refuse, to die instead of staying here as Uther’s plaything… but his body's instincts took over, and he finally swallowed right before he would have passed out. After he did, Uther patted his cheeks like an old man might to a beloved grandchild. Merlin wasn't even strong enough to pull his head back up; it stayed lolling backwards, showing him a view of the stone ceiling. 

“See, that wasn't so bad. This is your father's own special recipe. I'm sure he'd be pleased to see you enjoy it so.”

Merlin tried to kick him, but his legs moved with about as much force as a flower stalk in a gentle breeze. Uther laughed at him. 

“As much as I might enjoy a little fight, I can't risk it till the binding is done. Let us begin.”

Uther pulled out a knife from somewhere. Merlin could only see it from the corner of his eyes, but the flash of steel was worrisome. Did the binding involve blood? Blood magic was stronger than most other kinds; it made sense. But instead of cutting his skin, Uther sliced through Merlin’s tunic, dropping it to the ground. His trousers and small clothes followed. Uther roughly yanked off the boots, leaving him completely exposed. 

Well, shit. This couldn't mean anything good. He had known it would most likely go this way, what with the kissing and the obsession with his father and the talk about how delicious certain bodily fluids were (and just thinking about that gave Merlin a huge case of the heebie jeebies)—but it had been nice to hope it might be… you know, _later_. Not now. Preferably after he had been rescued. So… never. (Though how could there be a rescue if no one knew where he was? This was bad. This was very bad.)

Merlin shivered, half with cold and half with muted fear. His body knew to be anxious even if his emotions were numb. 

After a moment he heard the soft tinkling sound of the tiny links of the silver chain shifting and rubbing against each other. Uther stood in front of Merlin and threw it over his shoulders. 

“In some ways you look so much like your father. And in other ways… I can't help but be disappointed. Balinor was as strong as an ox, gorgeous to behold. You are a scrawny chicken; he was a god!”

Well, _sorry_ Merlin couldn't be more obliging. Maybe if Uther set him free for a couple months to do exercises and eat all the time… That was a great plan. Uther should do that. 

“But you'll do. I see him in your face. That's how I knew for sure. After you survived the dragon attack, I kept my eye on you… Ridiculous how I hadn't seen the resemblance before. And once I suspected you had magic, it was easy to know what to look for, to catch you in the act. But the eyes… the way they crinkle when you smile... So like your father it takes my breath away.”

Uther grabbed Merlin’s head and pulled it down so that the two of them were staring at each other. The maniac king was probably imagining Balinor in Merlin's place. It was disturbing on multiple levels. 

“They are beautiful eyes, just like his. Too bad they won't be after I'm done.” 

Uther retrieved the silver chain from its resting place on Merlin’s shoulders and held it up. It seemed much longer than it had previously. Since it was crawling with magic, there was a good chance that it actually was. 

The chain was very thin and flexible, almost like a silken rope. Uther set it over the bridge of Merlin's nose and pulled both ends back behind his head tightly. It pressed painfully into his eyes, and Merlin was forced to squeeze them shut. The chain itself was too thin to completely block his vision but served as an effective blindfold anyway. Magic flowed from the chain into his eyes, almost like a hand had wrapped itself around his eyeballs and squeezed. Tears leaked down his cheeks, having been pressed out like juice from an apple. 

“To bind the eyes, where magic reveals its evil presence.” Uther sounded solemn, almost reverent. 

He wrapped both ends of the chain around the back Merlin's head and then to the front, crossing them over Merlin’s open mouth. He continued around to the back and jerked the two strands as tightly as they would go, and then jerked again, even tighter. A surge of magic rushed into Merlin’s mouth, hot and wild. As it did, the two strands of the chain in his mouth adhered to his tongue, one on the top and one on the bottom. His tongue tingled like a limb that had long since fallen asleep and was suddenly—and painfully—used again. 

“To bind the tongue, the source of insidious spells.”

Uther kept wrapping the chain. Next, each strand circled around Merlin's throat three times, interlacing. Uther pulled them tight on each circuit. After the third one, the chains on his neck blazed with an incandescent heat. Merlin choked for breath, wheezing, struggling to suck in enough oxygen. After the pain subsided, he noticed that the chains on his throat felt heavier now, more solid, almost like an iron collar. He thought he might suffocate.

“To bind the breath of life, without which the fire of magic will extinguish.”

After that it became difficult to focus on what was happening. His head grew fuzzy and his ears started ringing. It was nearly impossible to concentrate, but he was determined to understand what was happening.

Uther wrapped both ends of the chain around Merlin's chest several times, crossing them over the left side of his rib cage. When he pulled it tightly, it cut into the skin and prevented inhalation. Magic pushed into Merlin’s chest, and his pulse accelerated until his heart vibrated and shook, as if tossed about in a violent storm. 

“To bind the heart, the source of all evil.”

Next Uther wrapped the chains three times around Merlin's waist. The chains had definitely grown longer—there was no way the original length would have sufficed. When Uther yanked, magic rushed through Merlin’s abdomen and turned his stomach into a roiling cauldron, all stinging heat and fizzing bubbles. 

“To bind the viscera, the source of the appetite for the treachery of magic.”

Uther pulled the chains behind Merlin’s back and tied them. He let go, and the ends of the two strands hung down over Merlin's arse. Then he left the room with no explanation. 

Merlin's body was now a battleground. The chain's magic attacked his own in a nauseating flurry of sensations. It hurt, yes, all over, but more than that it just felt _wrong_ , like a horde of beetles crawling through him, chomping at his tissues and depositing caustic excrement behind them. 

When Uther returned, he dropped something heavy onto the floor. The sound of metal hitting stone rang through the room. When the clanging died, Merlin could hear quiet popping and crackling noises, like the soft hiss of a fire dying. 

“And now the fun part.”

A hand ( _Uther’s hand—no, no, better not think of it_ ) grabbed his limp cock and started stroking. It was surprisingly gentle, considering the situation. Merlin was pleased that his cock didn't respond. But then the hand changed to something warm and wet, something that applied a different sort of pressure. Wait—was the _King of Camelot_ sucking him off?

At one time Merlin might have enjoyed the idea of Uther kneeling before him, but not anymore. Now it was just one more perturbing humiliation. His cock was unresponsive and sore, and eventually Merlin wished that whatever the king wanted would happen, just to get it over with. 

It took a long time, but finally his cock filled and lengthened. There was no pleasure in it. Merlin's existence consisted entirely of sickness and pain. 

And then Uther stopped. Merlin wasn't sure why; he certainly hadn't spilled any seed, which is what he thought Uther had wanted.

“I remember when I had Balinor like this. He was so delicious. I hung him in the dungeon for days, like salted meat set out to dry… Like the meat, I would keep him as long as he lasted, feasting whenever I wished. He tasted of pure power. I would suck his cock for hours, until it was so raw he screamed with the agony of it. But it served him right for betraying me so.”

Uther grabbed the two dangling strands of the chain and pulled them between Merlin's legs so that they followed the crevice of his arse. He encircled each of Merlin's testicles with a strand and then wrapped them both around his erect cock from base to tip. 

“To bind the seed of life, from which the evil of magic sprouts.”

When he pulled the chain tight, it was the most painful thing Merlin had ever felt. He couldn't scream, he couldn't move—he just endured the unendurable and wondered how the world could keep on existing. 

Uther laughed. He pulled the chains so that Merlin's cock was pressed flat against his abdomen and then wrapped them around Merlin’s back and tied them to the knot already sitting on the tailbone. 

“And now for the sealing. Technically any source of fire would do. But since I claim you for the royal family, I find the Pendragon Crest appropriate.”

There was the sound of metal clanging followed by a hissing sound. Was Uther going to brand him like an animal? 

And then pure fire pressed against the knot in the chain, burning straight through Merlin's back and into his soul. 

Pure fire pressed against the knot in the chain, burning straight through Merlin's back and into his soul. The entirety of the chain blazed, scorching everything it touched. Merlin’s eyes boiled in their sockets; his tongue turned to ashes. His heart and stomach disintegrated into molten agony, and his genitalia must have dripped onto the floor, for nothing could survive such an inferno. 

And it still didn't stop, even after he wondered how he could possibly still be alive.

The fire needed fuel and the fuel was Merlin's magic. The chains melted and seared their way down through his skin, through the tissues, into his bones; and the magic kept feeding the flames, causing them to burn wilder and hotter and more destructive.

And then—

And then, after an eternity, the last of his magic burnt away and the flames immediately died. The pain evaporated, and in its place surged a tidal wave of repressed emotion, all the feelings that he had not let himself feel since the dragon’s attack. The sorrow, the horror, the shame… the guilt, the regret, the fear…

A scream ripped out of his throat before he even realised that he could use his mouth again. 

Merlin still hung by the wrists, but the chains had disappeared and the numbness was gone. He would have been able to see, had his eyes not been so clouded with tears. For he was sobbing, body shaking, mouth wailing, tears streaming down his cheeks. He could barely breathe with the intensity of it. 

Someone lowered the rope he hung from until he reached the floor. His body flopped over as the rope let out. There was no way he could hold himself up. The person (it had to be Uther, even though Merlin couldn't see through the tears) untied his wrists, picked him up, and dropped him back on the bed. 

Merlin tried to curl up into a protective ball, but Uther lay him onto his back. “Stay, or I shall tie you into position and leave you that way for days.” It was hard—oh gods, it was hard—but he forced himself to lie on his back, legs together, arms next to his sides, even as his torso kept heaving with sobs. Better that than the alternative. 

Uther lay on top of him, pressing his clothed crotch into Merlin's naked one, crushing Merlin's chest with his larger bulk. He propped himself up on his elbows to look down at Merlin’s face. 

Fear, fear, there was everywhere fear, fear and shame and horror. Instinctively, Merlin reached for his magic to blast the man away, but it was not there, of course. Gone, gone, it was completely gone. Gone forever, ripped from him like a baby cut from its mother's womb. ( _Try not to think about how the mother never did survive that… and usually not the baby either…_ )

“Please, please, give it back, give it back, it's so empty inside I can't bear it, please, give it back…” Merlin whispered incessantly, babbling nonsense, for what sense was there in asking such a thing of a maniac king?

Uther rubbed his hand against Merlin's cheek, collecting teardrops on his fingertips. He lifted them up to his lips and licked at them eagerly, groaning with satisfaction. “Superb.” Then he leaned down to lick the tears straight from Merlin's skin, lapping at him like a mother cat with her kitten. 

Merlin could feel Uther’s arousal press and rub against him. The violation seemed a small thing in comparison to the void where his magic had been. Even when the drugged wine had numbed the magic, it had still been there. But now there was nothing left except a flood of emotions so harrowing that death would be a welcome relief. 

At last Uther stopped licking him. “You are so sweet. If only I had known of you sooner… So much wasted time. But you're here now, and I plan to enjoy it to the fullest. You're no Balinor, of course, but still exquisite. And I've seen the way Arthur looks at you. I think he'll be even more delighted than I am.”

Oh, gods, Arthur. Merlin's destiny, Merlin's love… The idea of Arthur hating him because of the magic, the betrayal… hating him and using him like a thing… Merlin could not endure it. He had to keep Arthur away… If he followed his father in this, as in so many other things, it would destroy his nobility, his heart, his goodness—and the future of Albion with it. 

Merlin would never let that happen—but what could he possibly do to stop it?

The weight lifted from Merlin's chest—and all the other parts of him, thank the gods. He gasped for breath, inhaling as much as he could after the constriction of his lungs. At the same time he chastised himself for it: _How dare you breathe! How dare you cling to life! Your betrayal of Arthur will be the catalyst for the destruction of all you hold dear. How dare you!_

Merlin was too busy condemning himself to pay attention to what Uther was doing. He was left untouched for a moment; then the warm, wet feeling of someone sucking his cock engulfed him. It didn't hurt beyond surface irritation from the previous time Uther had done it. This violation was a tiny pebble in his shoe in the big picture of all that had gone wrong. But it was a pebble with a sharp edge that kept stabbing into him. And the longer Uther sucked at him, the sharper the pebble got, the deeper the lesion, the more painful the experience…

His cock responded to the constant stimulation; of course it would. Merlin had already learned that he had no control of his body anymore, and that eventually, whatever Uther wanted to happen would happen. And Merlin was just… so tired, so miserable, so done with it all. If he lived (which seemed likely, much to his chagrin), he could fight again another day. But for now…

For now he allowed the sensations of arousal without fighting them. He didn't enjoy them, either; he just noticed their existence the way he might notice a person pass him in the street. 

Uther did not hold back but sucked with vigour. Occasionally he moaned the way a hungry person might at a large feast. Perhaps Merlin's pre-come was as sickeningly delicious as all his other fluids seemed to be. 

Orgasm approached, though everything felt dull and slow. When Merlin finally climaxed, it was almost unnoticeable except for the pulsing of his cock. Uther groaned loudly and kept sucking, even more forcefully than before. Everything was sensitive now, painfully sensitive, and gods, wasn't enough enough?

“Stop! Stop, enough!” Merlin knew it was stupid, but he couldn't help it. “Please, please, stop, it's enough…” 

Uther bit him on his now-limp cock, all sharp teeth and powerful jaws, and Merlin screamed at the agony of it. Away, away, he had to get away… He kicked, flailed, bucked, anything to get away, but Uther easily flipped him onto his stomach. In a very short period of time, his wrists and ankles were chained to iron loops that had been built into the bedposts. 

Merlin fought the whole time, instinct overtaking his logic. He begged, he cursed, he hit and even tried to bite, but very quickly he was immobilised. A cloth was forced into his mouth and tied in place. 

Uther had been efficient, practised in his movements—how many times had he done this before? And if this room was a secret… how had he kept his partners (either willing or unwilling) mum? By chopping their heads off?

Not that Merlin would mind death. In fact, he welcomed it. He used to think he deserved to be executed, a just punishment for all his sins. But now he realised that would be the true mercy. This, here, with Uther—this is what he deserved. (But if Merlin died, it would be better for Arthur, better for Albion. Death was a mercy he did not deserve, but it might be necessary.)

“Ah, you are but a mouse as compared to your father. It took three men to chain Balinor down for me. What a magnificent man he was! And to be able to harness all that power… it was so exhilarating. Oh, how I worshipped that body… licked at those perfect muscles, sucked on that perfect cock… It went on for hours, until we were both screaming with the agony and the ecstasy of it. And then, at last, I took him, truly claimed him as my own. He screamed for me, shouted my name as I came inside of him. And you will too, my sweet, you will too.”

Merlin shook his head frantically, though he knew it was foolish. But since he had started fighting, might as well continue. 

“But you've been naughty, and I owe you your punishment before we get to the fun part. I think five lashes will suffice for now. Wouldn't want to damage you too much before Arthur gets here. I'm sure he'll want to punish you for your sickening betrayal. _Sorcerer_.”

Uther hissed the word “sorcerer” like it was the direst of imprecations. As if _Merlin_ were the crazed and evil one—and that torture and rape and drinking other people's bodily fluids without their consent was sane and righteous. 

Merlin had little time to prepare for the lashes; the first crack of the whip sounded almost immediately. The impact stung, yes, but not as badly as it could have. The second and third were no worse. Uther seemed to be taking it easy on him. Perhaps he wanted Arthur to be the one to rip Merlin apart. Maybe it would be especially satisfying to see his son walk in his footsteps. If Uther had any doubts about the righteousness of his behaviour, maybe they would be laid to rest if Arthur went along with it. 

But that assumed that Uther cared about righteousness at all. Ridiculous. He probably just didn't want to break Merlin too quickly. 

The last two lashes landed, painful but not paralysing. The skin wasn't broken, just bruised. That meant less chance of dying from infection. Damn it. Even though he didn't deserve such a mercy, it would be better for Arthur if Merlin died. 

“You took that well,” Uther said, sounding pleased. “So did your father, you know. I was careful—I couldn't risk permanently damaging him. But I know how to draw out the pain, make it last until the person begs me to end it. And he endured far beyond what others could. He truly was magnificent. If not for his perfidy, we could have made Camelot great together. King and Dragonlord, two friends, two lovers, conquering all of Albion and taking what we wished. We would have turned Camelot into the sparkling jewel she deserves to be.” 

Uther moved across the room for a moment, and in his absence, Merlin grew more aware of how his body was feeling. His muscles were trembling, and he panted for breath. He shivered even as sweat beaded up on his forehead. It was hard to think of much beyond that, for the pain in his back grew as time passed. Maybe the lashes were harder than Merlin had realised. 

Without warning, cold liquid dripped over Merlin's crack. Uther’s hands roughly spread Merlin’s arse to locate his hole. Of course this was coming; how could it not? But after everything that had happened, the horror of being violated in this particular way had dulled. It was just one more thing to add to the list of injustices. 

Or so Merlin thought before an impossibly large _thing_ was smashed into his too-tight and not-prepared hole, splitting him open from the inside out. Stinging pain washed over him as delicate tissues ripped open from constant pounding. He screamed with the agony of it, but the intrusion continued, invading dark recesses of his body that he hadn't been aware existed. 

Uther moaned with pleasure. “Ahhhh, yes, so tight, so good…”

This was worse than the flogging because it was so horribly clear that Uther was deriving sadistic pleasure from Merlin's pain. His body was being used as a thing whose only purpose was to fulfill perverted sexual desires. He was nothing. He had no magic, no control, no hope, nothing. He was nothing but a ball of misery. 

A particularly terrible thrust tore through his body with such overwhelming pain that it pulled Merlin into welcome unconsciousness. The pain and sorrow fled. And at last he truly _was_ nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialog shamelessly stolen from episode 5x12. 
> 
> This whole chapter is extra-specially dedicated to Ona, who is a great Balinor fan.

Even in the nothingness of unconsciousness, Merlin found that he still existed after all. It was unfortunate. 

He had hoped to be spared from the vicissitudes of the dream world. Dreams were rarely his friends. They were normally a chance for his inner guilt to beat up on the rest of him by showing all the people he had failed… Freya, Will, his father… Why would that change now that he was at the lowest point in his life?

The fog of the dream landscape slowly shifted away to reveal a cave. But not just any cave. This one was filled with crystals embedded into the floor, the walls, the ceiling. Merlin had never seen such a place before. It was beautiful—and should have been wondrous. Instead, it filled him with a grating dissonance, as if horribly out-of-tune musicians were trying to play a lullaby with a warning bell. 

The crystals called to him even as they repelled him. The last time he had looked into one, it had foretold disaster—Kilgharrah’s rampage—and everything Merlin had done had led straight to that outcome. Which in turn had led Merlin to Uther. Nothing good could come from looking into crystals. 

But they called to him, enticing even through the dissonance. _Look into our depths… Look and see… Look what will become of your miserable, worthless self… Look and see your future…_

He shut his eyes, to keep from looking. The voices kept calling… _look and see, look and you shall know…_ He pressed his hands over his ears, but still they came, ceaseless, relentless, pounding into his head… 

A warm hand touched his shoulder. Merlin jerked in surprise, eyes bursting open. 

“Merlin. My son.”

In front of him, alive and whole, stood Balinor. 

“Father!” Merlin lunged forward into Balinor’s open embrace. He wrapped his own arms around his very-solid-and-not-dead father. He wanted to cling to him the way he had clung to his mother, back when he was young and suffered from nightmares of being discovered and executed for something he was born with, something he had had no choice in. 

But he was no longer a child and, reluctantly, he pulled away. 

“My dear son.” Balinor smiled at him, his expression filled with pride and love, and it broke Merlin's heart to have missed out on this for his entire life. Tears surged to his eyes, and he wiped them away. Not because his father wasn't worth his tears, but because his father was here with him, now. And even if it was only a dream, it was the most vivid and realistic one that Merlin had ever experienced. Deep down, he knew it was something _more_. 

“I am so proud of you, my boy. You've done so well, so very well.”

And just like that Merlin’s resolution not to cry vanished. The tears spilled over, down his cheeks, dripping on to his shirt. At least it was a relief to be clothed again—and healed: no broken bones or injured back, no ripped up passage or bleeding wrists, no physical reminders of his ordeal, nothing beyond the void where his magic used to be.

“No, no, I haven't… I've just fucked up one thing after another. I got you killed, I allowed Kilgharrah to destroy and maim and murder, I let Uther catch me and now he's going to use my betrayal to corrupt Arthur… and it's all my fault!” 

He could barely speak as sobs racked his body. Balinor’s warm arms wrapped around him again, pulling him close, encircling him with love. Merlin pressed his face into his father's shoulder and let himself fall apart. Balinor held him tight, safe, and Merlin never wanted to leave. 

All the while gentle words cascaded into Merlin's ear. “Shhh, shhhh, my boy, you've come so far. I know things seem devastating right now, but you can't give up hope. You have a great future in front of you, an amazing destiny. It's been so hard, I know. You've had to make impossible decisions, try to discern the lesser of many evils. There's no way you could win, Merlin, none… But you kept trying, kept striving to do right, even when all it brought was pain.”

Merlin snuffled and held on tighter. “But I let the dragon loose… I killed all those people… that was my fault. I could have left him to rot… I knew what he would do. I had seen it in the crystal.”

Balinor pushed Merlin away gently, just enough so that he could look in his eyes. “You were righting a grave injustice, my son. Kilgharrah was wrong to have responded to your mercy with vengeance. But all those deaths lie on his conscience, not yours.”

“But the crystal showed Kilgharrah attacking Camelot. I should have known what would happen!”

Balinor leaned his face towards Merlin's, who bent his down slightly so that they could rest their foreheads together. Balinor's eyes reflected the eerie glow of the crystals. But instead of being disturbing, the light revealed great intensity of conviction. Merlin knew, without a doubt, that he would trust whatever his father would tell him. 

“My son. Crystals are notoriously difficult. Treacherous. Even great seers who have studied many years struggle to interpret their visions. Preventing a possible future is rarely possible and usually leads to worse consequences. You cannot blame yourself for the the sins of others.”

“But—” Apparently knowing you could trust someone to speak truly and having your heart believe it were two separate things. 

“If you must have someone to blame, my son, then blame me. I was the one who allowed Kilgharrah to be captured. I knew Uther to be insane with grief—hell, even before Ygraine died, I had suspicions that he was becoming unbalanced. I had thought it merely frustration over the lack of an heir. Now it's clear that wasn't all that was going on. I should have known there was more to it. But he was my friend, and I didn't want to see it.”

“You were friends? With the king?”

Balinor smiled, a sad, wistful smile, the kind of smile Hunith would get whenever Merlin had asked about his father, right before she told him to not ask so many questions. 

“Yes, we were friends. A lot like you and Arthur, really. Come, let's sit and talk awhile.”

Like Merlin and Arthur? But they weren't friends. Arthur was an ungrateful prat and for some unfathomable reason Merlin was hopelessly devoted to him. But friends? Perhaps, if the situation had been different, like Arthur had said… if he hadn't been a prince… or perhaps if Merlin had been recognised and accepted as a dragonlord like his father had been…

But then look how well that had turned out. 

Balinor let go of Merlin, placed a hand on his back, and gently guided him to a flat area of the cave where they could sit resting against a smooth wall. It was impossibly comfortable and reminded Merlin that—

“This is just a dream. You're not really here. You're dead.”

Balinor placed his hand on Merlin's knee. It was warm and solid, and Merlin's heart ached to know none of it was real. 

“Dead or alive, real or imagined, past or present, these things are of no consequence. All that matters is that you heed the words of your father who loves you. Now listen when I tell you: none of this was your fault. The fault stems from events before your birth.”

Merlin shook his head in bemusement. “From when you were _friends_ with Uther Pendragon.” It was so difficult to believe. Everything he had ever learned up to this point made this a hard truth to stomach. Uther had claimed it to be true—but Uther was deranged and his claims could not to be trusted. 

“I know it's hard to believe, but we _were_ friends. Uther was a strong king with a vision of how to make Camelot great. I admired him, was enticed by his enthusiasm and ideals. We were going to stamp out all evil from Camelot together. I taught him how to combat and contain evil sorcerers. Occasionally a dragon would go wild or follow its dragonlord down dark paths, so I taught Uther how to capture and kill dragons too.”

Balinor shook his head slightly, and his weathered face sagged. He rubbed his forehead with a hand, took a deep breath, and continued. 

“And for that, I am forever horrified. I gave a madman the tools with which to destroy an entire species.”

It was Merlin's turn to try and comfort his father. He tentatively placed his hand on Balinor's back, not quite sure what kind of comfort would be welcome. Balinor accepted the touch and leaned closer to Merlin. 

Merlin tried to be a voice of reason, just as his father had been for him. “You didn't know that he was mad—”

“But I should have!” Balinor snapped. “Even then I knew something wasn't quite right… the way he looked at me, the things he said, the questions he asked… At first I was excited to receive attention from a brilliant and noble king. What did I care if he seemed a little too obsessed with power and how to control it? And so what if he occasionally pressed his body up against mine? Everyone knew that kings tended towards being eccentric. It was inevitable after being catered to all the time. His touch was uncomfortable, but it seemed harmless enough.”

Balinor grimaced at the memory, and Merlin ached to reach out and smooth the resulting wrinkles out of his father's face. But he held still, not wanting to interrupt the story. 

“But as the years passed and Ygraine remained childless, Uther grew stranger. He obsessed constantly about having an heir. He even asked if dragonlords could use magic to conceive and carry a child of their own. I don't think he believed my claim that it was impossible, even with magic. Uther lusted after power and assumed that if he could mate with a dragonlord, he would produce the ultimate heir. If his heir were able to command dragons, he could raze other kingdoms to the ground without much effort. True dragonlords respect their dragons as powerful creatures of magic and only call upon them in great need. But a child brought up by Uther Pendragon… I am sure he thought the boy would do as commanded, and he probably wasn't wrong.”

Merlin thought of Arthur, then, his beloved Arthur, child of a power-hungry madman. And yes, Arthur constantly tried to gain his father's acceptance and approval. It had seemed like a pointless attempt to Merlin. Whatever Arthur did, it was never quite enough. This was even more apparent recently after the disappearance of Morgana. Merlin had shut away his emotions so tightly that even though he had noticed the Uther’s constant scorn, it had not registered the way it ought to have done. But now that Merlin thought of it, he burned at the way Uther disparaged Arthur for not finding Morgana. Time after time Arthur left on gruelling expeditions to search out the king's lost ward, and time after time he returned home to scathing comments and public humiliation in front of the entire court. 

At the time, Merlin had not cared. Nothing had bothered him then. Nothing. But looking back, it was heartbreaking to see how much Arthur craved his father's approval and how hurt he was not to get it. Merlin had barely known his father, and already he felt more love and affection from his dad than Arthur was ever likely to get. 

If Uther had so desperately wanted an heir, it was clear that it had not been out of a desire to love the child. He had spent Arthur's entire life training him to be a successful, powerful ruler—and nothing else. Merlin had thought it grief over the lost queen that had left Uther a cold and distant father. But it seemed it would have been this way regardless. 

“Uther was obsessed with having an heir, and he increasingly wanted it to be through me, never mind that it was impossible. He got drunk at a feast and kissed me one night. I pulled away, for I knew he no longer saw me as a person, only as a vehicle to power. Even as I rejected him, there was still a part of me that was excited by the attention. If Uther weren't married… if he had wanted me for me… maybe I could have loved him. But it could never be.”

Merlin considered his own infatuation with Arthur—though though that term cheapened it somehow. From the very beginning there had been something between them, something that turned Merlin into a ball of reckless impulses. Mouthing off, challenging, using magic blatantly, trying to throw his life away to save Arthur's… It had just been one foolish thing after another since the day they met. _Destiny_ , a voice strangely like Kilgharrah’s said in his head.

_Stupidity_ , Merlin answered back. What future could there possibly be longing after Arthur Pendragon? A future of being laughed at and mocked by the one he loved, followed by watching Arthur marry Gwen? But none of that could even happen now; all that Merlin could expect from Arthur was hatred and pain. Merlin had betrayed him; Arthur would follow in his father's footsteps and see him punished for it. Because isn't that just what Uther had trained him to do?

There was no positive future for Merlin and Arthur. No coin, no destiny. Only misery. Betrayal on both sides, and a terrible future as a _thing_ to be used for sadistic pleasure. 

“Uther became more and more unhinged, and more and more obsessed with me. I hoped that an heir would send him back onto the path to sanity. I urged Uther to consult Nimueh; I encouraged him to use magic to help Ygraine conceive. I knew the cost would be steep, but it seemed a necessary price to pay. If I had known what the true cost would be… not just a life for a life, but the genocide of a people and the eradication of a species, I would have chosen a different path. 

“I blame myself. I want to blame Uther, of course, but how much responsibility can a madman shoulder? I should have known that to interfere with the balance of life and death could lead to nothing good. But he was my friend. And I slowly bought into his conviction that an heir was necessary for the future of the kingdom.”

Balinor's voice was low, gravelly, dripping with sadness and regret. His obvious pain spurred Merlin to reach beyond his own despair. 

“You couldn't have known, though, what the consequences would be. You can't blame yourself.” Even as Merlin said this, he thought of his own guilt, of all the choices he had made over time to come to this point, and how he should have known better what the outcomes would be. 

“Perhaps, my son, perhaps. But even after the fateful decision to use magic, I still made horrible decisions. When the Purge began, I panicked and went into hiding. Looking back, it pains me greatly to know how many of my brothers and sisters were killed while I hid away and did nothing to help them. And then when Uther claimed to be remorseful, I was desperate to believe it. I needed to know that there was some goodness inside him, that the friend I had once admired still existed and hadn't been entirely destroyed by grief and insanity. 

“Perhaps I might be able to forgive myself if he maintained that kernel of goodness deep inside. I could rest in the knowledge that he had, at one point, been a person worth serving. That I hadn't been friends with an evil madman the whole time.”

Balinor paused, and Merlin took a moment to focus on their surroundings while he let this information settle. The crystals around them had shifted in colour, a hint of angry red sneaking into the diffuse blue light. Perhaps they were as furious with Uther’s crimes against magic as Merlin was. And he _was_ furious—seething. Perhaps Uther was insane, but that insanity had been born from a lust for power and glory. The king could have chosen a different path, but he hadn't wanted to. 

“I so badly wanted to believe that Uther still possessed goodness inside, that he was sincere in his offer of reconciliation and peace. I was foolish, and for that I paid a price. But Kilgharrah— To this day I am horrified to know I lead him straight into a trap, straight into a nightmare existence. For this, I can never forgive myself.”

Merlin thought of the powerful, ancient dragon, locked away for years in the darkness by a petty tyrant, a magicless madman. How Kilgharrah’s pride must have burnt to know that the instrument of the dragons’ destruction was a weak and measly human. 

They sat together in silence. In the distance, Merlin could hear drops of water splashing into a puddle, one at a time. Before they fell, did the tiny drops know they would soon rejoin their companions? Or did they think they would plummet alone into a catastrophic fate?

Merlin shook his head in an attempt to chase away his inane thoughts. Water didn't care what happened to it, not the way Merlin did. And that was a surprising and not completely welcome realisation. It had been peaceful when his emotions had been locked away, when he hadn't cared about anything. But now… oh gods, he did care. About his own life, yes, of course, but that paled in comparison to how he worried for Arthur. 

And when he went back to that awful place, he would be a first-hand witness to Arthur's anger and hatred, the inevitable consequences of Merlin’s betrayal. He would watch him follow Uther into madness and evil, and what could Merlin possibly do about it? His magic was stolen, his body was being tortured and violated—but the heartbreak of watching Arthur fall would be the most painful of all. 

Merlin sighed. “I don't want to go back. I want to stay here with you. There is nothing there for me but pain and despair.” He breathed deeply and tried to keep the tears from welling up in his eyes. “There is nothing I can do to help myself, and absolutely nothing I can do to save Arthur.”

Despite his intentions, tears pricked at his eyeballs; two or three escaped and ran down Merlin's cheek. His father wrapped his arm around his back and said, “Do not let go, Merlin, do not give in.”

“I have no reason to go on. The battle is already over. Uther has won.” Merlin's head felt incredibly heavy on his shoulders, and he let it droop to the front.

“Only if you accept defeat. But if you fight, if you let hope into your heart, Uther cannot be victorious.” Balinor gently placed a hand on Merlin's drooping head and guided it to a resting place on Balinor's upper chest, then wrapped both arms around him again. Merlin allowed himself to relax into his father. But the embrace didn't stop his despair. 

“What hope is there without my magic?” Merlin's voice cracked with sorrow, and he furiously tried to stem his tears. He did not ask what hope there was for Arthur, for Merlin knew implicitly that there could be none. In a choice between Uther and Merlin, Arthur would choose Uther every time. Why wouldn't he? Arthur constantly strove to please his father in all things. And Merlin was nothing but an evil traitor. 

Balinor kept speaking, though, and Merlin did his best to please his own father, the father who loved him, by heeding his words. 

“Merlin, you are more than a son of your father. You are son of the earth, the sea, the sky; magic is the fabric of this world, and you were born of that magic. You are magic itself. You cannot lose what you are.”

Exhaustion washed over Merlin. It all sounded liked nonsense, but he would try to understand. Because his father asked him to. 

“But how do I find myself... again?” Be yawned even as he asked the question, and the dreamlike quality of the cave around him increased. The light from the glowing crystals diffused until the entire cave was uniformly foggy with it. 

“Believe, Merlin. Believe what your heart knows to be true. That you have always been, and always will be.”

“Always will be.” But even as he repeated the words, Merlin could feel his father slipping away from him. The foggy glow died away, and Balinor's physical form dissipated with it. Merlin could still hear his voice murmuring to him, so quiet that he almost missed it, obscured by the pounding of his heart. 

“Rest now. Rest my son. And soon you shall awaken into the light.”

And Merlin let himself drift into the fog and rest. His father would not lead him astray. His father loved him. Merlin would try to trust in that love. He would try to hope. He would believe. 

But all of his intentions vanished when he woke up to see Arthur standing over him, staring down with hatred in his eyes and revulsion etched all over his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the section of the story posted on the kink meme. All future updates will be solely to ao3 because posting 4300 characters at a time in LJ comments is painful. ;)


	5. Chapter 5

When Arthur woke, the sun was high in the sky. The golden light that brightened his chambers was a stark contrast to his mood, which was black and getting blacker. Why the hell hadn't Merlin woken him up at dawn like he was supposed to? 

And for that matter, why hadn't his father sent someone? It was well past time for his meeting with the king. Uther would normally take every opportunity to shame him for such a mistake; he would never allow a pleasant lie-in when responsibilities had been neglected. It was most peculiar. 

As Arthur dressed himself that morning, he thought of the boy that usually helped him and frowned. Of course, much of Arthur's bad mood stemmed from his failure to find Morgana and his father's disapproval of just about everything Arthur ever did. But he would be lying to himself if he claimed that Merlin's recent behaviour hadn't affected him. 

After the dragon's attack, the boy had been afflicted with a melancholia so severe that even Arthur could see it. And Arthur was about as capable of interpreting subtle emotions as he was of distinguishing between different styles of petticoats. 

He had been confused by Merlin's sadness. The tears shed over the dead dragonlord were a prime example: why had he been so upset? Arthur and Merlin had witnessed death together before, and there had been no crying, just a grim acceptance that death was an unavoidable fact of life. And yes, the damage that the dragon had inflicted upon Camelot and her people had been tragic. But in the end they had defeated the dragon. They had won. They would mourn the dead and repair the damage and move on, just like they always had. Merlin hadn't been so despondent after Sigan’s gargoyles attacked, and they had caused great damage too. It almost seemed like this time he felt personally responsible somehow. Ridiculous. 

And then an even stranger thing had happened: that mysterious sadness had disappeared and was essentially replaced by… nothing. _Arthur's_ Merlin certainly never came back. There was no sass, no mocking, no impertinence; no laughter or teasing or brilliant smiles. But no sadness, either. It was as if all the things that made Merlin a person had up and vanished overnight. All that was left was a (barely) animated bag of skin and bones. 

The boring and lifeless version of Merlin had at least been punctual and responsible. In terms of proper service, it was the best he had ever managed. But in termswhat Arthur liked to think of as the-friendship-that-cannot-be-and-yet-somehow-is, the change was devastating. Even sad and despondent Merlin had occasionally snapped out a bitter remark that still held a hint of his normal insolent (and hilarious) self. At least then Arthur had held out hope that his almost-friend would pull out of this dark mood. But the new version of his manservant contained nothing of the Merlin he had known. There was just… compliance and adequate service. That was all. 

And it hurt. It hurt like hell, if he were honest with himself. He didn't really want to be honest, because it was somewhat embarrassing how dependent he'd grown on Merlin, how attached he was to a lowly servant, and a barely competent one at that. 

His father had always taught him to stand apart, high above the lower classes. A king could not have friends, could not lean on others. It would make him weak, both in appearance and in fact. And while it was encouraged that Arthur learn how to discuss important topics intelligently with the upper nobility, there was no instance _ever_ in which he should be friendly with the serving staff. 

He knew his father was correct, of course, but he had never quite managed to follow him in this. It was just another in the endless list of ways that Arthur was a disappointment. 

Of course his inability to find Morgana was at the top of that list. Not a day went by that Uther didn't question him about it, usually loudly and in front of the court. Arthur had tried to shield Merlin from the worst of it. Past-Merlin would have been angered by the constant denigration and would have gone off and done something stupid. Arthur couldn't have that—he had finally found a servant he wanted to keep, thank you very much, and no way was he going to let the rash boy get thrown in the dungeons—or worse. 

Now, though, Arthur wouldn't mind if Merlin showed some of that fiery passion. He missed it, along with the rest of the things that made his Merlin _Merlin_.

Well, shit. Since when had he started thinking of Merlin as “his”? If his father ever found out… No, it didn't matter. His father wasn't going to find out, that was all there was to it. 

Arthur finished dressing, frowned at the dining table currently devoid of any breakfast, and wondered where his servant could be. If he was at the tavern again, Arthur might be tempted to bring him along to meet with his father anyway. Merlin couldn't be in the king's presence for more than five minutes without getting tossed into the stocks unless Arthur shielded him. Arthur never had the heart to punish Merlin, but if the boy were out drinking instead of attending to his duties, Arthur would be happy to let his father do the dirty work. 

Well—the old Merlin ( _Arthur’s_ Merlin) wouldn't have been able to stay out of trouble. This new one might… if he ever had the decency to show up again. 

Arthur left his chambers and went to find his father. It would be better to face up to his lateness now instead of putting it off, though why his father hadn't sent someone to fetch him was a mystery. 

The castle was quieter than Arthur had expected. There was supposed to be a council session that afternoon. Usually that meant lots of activity as the staff scrambled to prepare. He passed the chamberlain and, after a quick inquiry, learned that Uther had cancelled all meetings and events for the day. 

Was his father ill? He was normally so stubborn about working even through sickness. Taking time off was weak, and a king that appeared weak would never inspire the necessary fear in his subjects. Or so he claimed. Much of a ruler’s power was based on the people's perception of him, so it was necessary to always maintain an image of strength and vengefulness. Otherwise the people would act as they wished and the whole kingdom would be plunged into chaos, _and you know what happens in a chaotic kingdom, don't you Arthur? Regicide, that's what. Assassination. Getting conquered by the neighbours or overthrown by the peasants. And then where would Camelot be? No one can rule Camelot like a Pendragon, son. Anyone else would lead her to ruin. And you don't want the land you love to be ruined, do you, Arthur? So you better do just as I tell you or Camelot will fall and it will ALL BE YOUR FAULT!_

Arthur shook his head, trying to get his father's voice out of his mind. It had been easier to do, lately… Truthfully, it had begun the day that Merlin had warned him about Valiant. He had tried to save Arthur's life, and in return Arthur had fired him. That was what a prince had to do: be strong and punitive and accept nothing but the best. 

But he had been wrong. Which meant that maybe his father had also been wrong. At least in that one case. No, no, not just the one. Defying his father had become a fairly regular occurrence. Because of Merlin. Arthur had searched for the mortaeus flower—for Merlin. He had gone to rescue Gwen—because Merlin would insist it the right thing to do. Without Merlin, Arthur probably wouldn't even know who Gwen was beyond “Morgana’s maid.”

But should Arthur have defied his father? Both of those trips _had_ been reckless. He could easily have died, and then not only would Merlin or Gwen likely have died too, Camelot would have no heir. If his father were to be believed, that would be catastrophic for everyone…

Would it be? Truly? How could he know?

It was so hard to let himself acknowledge that his father was imperfect. His whole life Arthur had been in awe of him, the great king who expected such amazing things from his son. Everyone else seemed to be in awe, too. No one spoke against him. Was that because Uther was infallible? Or because no one dared?

When Arthur knocked on his father's door, the manservant opened it. Arthur knew his name to be Silas only because Merlin had insisted he learn. In general, Arthur tried to have as little interaction with Silas as possible. The man gave him the creeps. He suspected Silas of spying on him and reporting back to his father; the servant often glared in Arthur's direction with a look of disapproval in his eye. 

“Good afternoon, Your Highness. The king bids you wait here until he summons you.” Silas pointed to a rather uncomfortable looking chair which Arthur reluctantly sat in. There were more pleasant options available, but if his father was in one of _those_ kinds of moods, it would be best to do as told. 

Or perhaps Silas just sat him there from force of habit. Or spite. 

At least Silas brought Arthur the king's wine to drink while waiting. It wasn't watered down at all, and he let himself drink freely. It was always easier to face his father while slightly inebriated. He cared less about how much his father's disapproval stung. He cared less about everything when he was drunk. Except maybe Merlin… 

After a couple glasses of wine, Arthur always found it hard to look away from the boy—and Merlin was still a boy, still young, younger than Arthur. Sometimes when he looked, he could see how inexperienced Merlin was, innocent, childlike without being immature. It woke up Arthur's protective streak and made him want to do crazy things to keep Merlin safe… crazy things like climbing through dark caves while being chased by deadly spiders. 

Although lately… lately Merlin no longer looked quite so young nor innocent. He had changed, and it was not in a good way at all. Arthur didn't like it one bit. 

The wait to see his father was long and irritating. Silas dutifully kept Arthur's cup filled, but otherwise just stood in front of the door that lead to the rest of the king's suite, almost as if guarding it, and stared at him. Or at least it felt like he was; every time Arthur glanced over, the man was looking right at him. 

At last Arthur's impatience made him speak up. “Do you know how long I am to wait for?”

“The king will come when he wishes. You are to wait here until he arrives.” Gah. The smug git probably knew the answer and was laughing at him. 

If the idea was to punish him through boredom, it was working. Arthur sighed and took another swig. 

At last the door behind Silas opened. The servant smoothly stepped aside and bowed, ever the picture of graceful perfection. If Merlin tried to do that, he'd fall flat on his bum. Arthur laughed aloud at the image before stopping himself abruptly. Perhaps he was drunker than he thought. He quickly stood up to greet the king. 

“Father.”

Uther nodded to him. “Arthur.” He dismissed Silas with a wave. The servant left so quietly it was like he was made of air. So very different from Merlin. Merlin, who was probably in the tavern still, seeing as how he had made no effort to find Arthur. Merlin could have found him and come to receive instructions (and to relieve Arthur's boredom, though Merlin didn't need to know that). But he hadn't. 

“Sit.” Uther’s command was sharp and brooked no argument. Arthur sat. 

Uther remained standing, towering over him, and it made Arthur feel small, like a misbehaving child. That meant it was to be a lecture, then. At least they were in private this time. The words would be harsher, but there would be no witnesses. 

Uther smiled, but something about it was off. Twisted, almost. “Did you know your manservant was a sorcerer?”

Wait, what? Had he heard that correctly? Arthur had expected more insults about his inability to find Morgana, not—whatever this was. 

“What are you talking about? Merlin's no sorcerer. He's much too incompetent.”

Uther’s smile faded and was replaced by a more familiar wrinkled brow. “Ah, but that's what he wanted you to think. And look how well the ruse worked! He infiltrated right into the very heart of the royal household. It was clever of him to save your life like that, to get us to trust him. I wonder if he was working with Mary Collins? They both arrived in Camelot the same day. They probably set it up so he could win our trust. And look how well it worked!”

Arthur’s emotions skittered around in all directions. Confusion, anger, fear, horror… Could any of this be true? Was his father crazy? He tried to make sense of what he was hearing, but it was harder than it ought to be. His head felt fuzzy; he had drunk rather a lot of wine. 

“And how _did_ this plan work? What ‘evil’ has Merlin done since ‘infiltrating’ the royal household?”

Uther’s voice grew louder, more forceful.“You don't see it? You don't see how he's affected you?”

Arthur told his fuzzy mind to tread carefully, but it was hard to do. The wine and the emotions and the wildness of his father's accusations were all getting to him. 

“And how is that, Father? How has he _affected_ me?” 

“Don't you see, son? He's gained control over you. Remember when that witch Morgause filled your head with those filthy lies and turned you against me? You wanted to kill me, and who stopped you? That little traitor of yours, that's who!”

“What the fuck?” Arthur yelled. He couldn't help it. “How is he a traitor if he stopped me from killing you, _the king_?”

“But don't you see? You listened to him when you wouldn't listen to your father and your king! He's trying to warp your mind, to turn it against goodness, to turn it to evil.”

Arthur jumped to his feet, despite his father's previous instruction. “ _He stopped me from killing you_!” 

“And you listened! What other things will you obey him in? You defied me to get that flower for him, you went to rescue his little girlfriend… He's got you wrapped around his little finger, Arthur. He probably thinks that if he asked you to legalise sorcery, you would! Don't you see the sorcerers’ plans? They couldn't overthrow us, so they sent him here to change Camelot from the inside out! And it's working!”

Uther panted for breath. Arthur hadn't seen his father this riled up in a long time. But maybe he had a point? He never had defied his father before Merlin… but—didn't it all seem too coincidental? How would the sorcerers know that Merlin would be awarded the position of manservant to the prince? Maybe they had assumed that Merlin being assistant to the royal physician would be good enough?

But all of that hinged on the very unlikely fact that Merlin actually had magic. 

“You've shown me no proof, Father. You can't expect me to believe that Merlin—”

“You never questioned me before he came!” Uther bellowed, face turning a purplish red colour. “That should be proof enough!”

As a child, Arthur would have agreed without hesitation. The king was infallible. But now, ever since Merlin had come, he couldn't bring himself to do it. 

And it wasn't just Merlin who encouraged Arthur to think for himself. Morgana had plenty to say on the subject too. But could he trust her any more than he could Merlin? She _was_ a known magic sympathiser. She had rescued that druid boy; she had been locked in the dungeons for speaking out against the treatment of Gwen's father. Plus there was that time the druids had kidnapped her. Who knows what they might have convinced her to believe? Or what enchantments they might have laid on her mind? The king's ward would be in an excellent position to influence the royal court, after all. 

Was the court being infiltrated from all sides? Or was his father just being paranoid? It was much harder to discern when Arthur was half-drunk. Or all drunk. Whatever it was. 

Standing up to his father had always been a risky endeavour, but Arthur wasn't going to back down now. Not if his father's paranoia was going to lead to trouble for Merlin.

“Perhaps I ought to have questioned you more often if you went around then like you do now, arresting innocent men without proof.” Arthur's voice was as loud as Uther’s had been. A sudden thought seized him. “Where is he, Father? You haven't executed him already, have you?” 

Panic gripped Arthur at that thought… Gods, what if Merlin were already dead? What if it was too late? His heart beat furiously, pushing the blood through his veins at a painful rate of speed. Even if Merlin were a sorcerer, even if he had betrayed Arthur… Arthur couldn't stand to see him killed. At least not without a chance to talk to him, to find out if everything had been a lie. Merlin had become such an indispensable part of his life—he couldn't let that go without a fight. 

Uther shook his head, dismissive of Arthur's worries. “No, no, the boy still lives. He had many secrets. But now that I know them, he'll serve me—serve us—better alive. You'll see, my son. I'll show you. You have so much to learn. About power. And control. And love.”

Power? Love? What the fuck was his father on about?

“But—”

“Shh, Arthur, just listen. You wanted proof of the magic. I'll give it to you. I tested him with the wine to make sure, the same wine you've been drinking. It has no effect on those not corrupted by magic. I have tested you, now—just to make sure that the traitor hadn't corrupted you, hadn't been teaching you magic. If he had, you would have been paralysed and your magic put to sleep. But thankfully, you are still free of the sorcerer's taint. I didn't think any child of mine could possibly succumb to such temptations, but I had to be sure. I knew I could depend on you.”

Arthur was conflicted. Part of him glowed with the praise his father had casually given, eager to soak up every last bit of parental approval. But another part burned with anger that his father hadn't trusted him and was treating him as a potential enemy. 

“But he must be powerful, that boy. Burned through the drugs fast, and then when I bound his magic, the chain glowed brighter than I'd ever seen before. But it's not surprising, considering who his father is.”

“His father? But Merlin doesn't know his father.” Arthur clenched his hands, wishing he could hit something. This conversation was so confusing and surreal it was making him angry. 

“That's just another lie he told, Arthur, one of many. That boy has been deceiving you since the moment he arrived. Before you were born, his father was one of my vassals. I awarded him the position of official Court Dragonlord of Camelot.”

“You mean… Merlin's father is a dragonlord?” 

“Balinor. His father was Balinor.”

Everything clicked into place then. The tears over a dead man he barely knew; Merlin's continued melancholy; even why Balinor had agreed to come and help Camelot in the first place. Why would a man like that want to help the king that had persecuted him? Of course there had to be a more personal reason. 

And Arthur had had the gall to tell Merlin that no man was worth his tears—when it had been his father. Gods. 

“After a dragonlord dies, his gift passes to his heir. Son, you'll soon discover that dragonlords are not the same as other sorcerers. Their power is more visceral… and it's so strong that you can literally taste it. Balinor’s power called to me. I think he tried to get close to me so that he could control me. But he revealed his hand when he plotted to kill your mother, and my eyes were opened to his true nature. From that point on, I was the one in control… at least until a traitor helped him escape!”

Arthur was perplexed. “I don't understand. Why didn't you just kill him like all the other sorcerers when you had the chance?”

“Because he's not like other sorcerers. And neither, you'll find, is his son. I've seen the way you look at the boy, Arthur. I see the glances you sneak when you think no one is looking. You can't hide anything from me. His power calls to you, just as his father's did to me, and as his still does… You'll see. All that power, under your fingertips… it's intoxicating. Delicious.”

His father was insane. What else could explain this? Unless he was enchanted somehow? None of this made any sense. 

“Come, Arthur. Let me show you what I mean.”

Uther turned through the door Silas had been guarding earlier. Arthur followed hesitantly, suddenly fearful of what he would find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not perfect but I was spending too long on it for a quick story and it's just time to move on!


	6. Chapter 6

Merlin couldn't look away from Arthur's face. Eyes flashed dangerously over a wrinkled nose; lips curled back, revealing teeth grinding together. He looked almost feral with rage, and it was heartbreaking. Arthur had discovered Merlin's treachery and despised him. 

Sadness and despair ripped at Merlin, shaking him so fiercely his body might shatter. He had never felt so horribly exposed, chained naked and spread-eagled, completely at the mercy of the man he loved, a man who looked ready to tear Merlin's intestines out with his bare fingers. 

He wanted to beg and plead, to apologise. He wanted to throw himself on the floor and cry for mercy, explain that everything he had done had been for Arthur, always for Arthur, everything that was Merlin's was Arthur's. Everything down to the very fibre of his being was devoted to Arthur, and gladly so. But there was a gag on his mouth and he couldn't speak, could do nothing but moan in desperation as tears slid from his eyes and caught in the hollows of his ears before overflowing and dripping onto the bed. He yanked at the chains holding him, if only to find a more protected position, but it was hopeless. 

“What's wrong with his eyes?” Arthur asked, voice sharp and loud. “Why are they completely white?”

“It is part of the binding.” Uther sounded proud, like he was showing off a new prize stallion to a foreign dignitary he wished to impress. “Magic is expelled through a sorcerer's eyes during a spell, but don't worry. The binding ritual burnt away the eyes’ capacity to hold magic. The ritual made it impossible for sorcery to use this body as a vessel. It is like burning fields and sowing them with salt: all the living magic in the body was destroyed, and there is no hospitable place left for any residual power to take root.”

Arthur continued to stare. Merlin wanted to shrivel away into nothingness, anything to escape the contempt and loathing of the person he had devoted his life to. The intensity of emotion that raced across Arthur's face was more than Merlin ever seen, and it was horrifying to know it was all because of him. 

Uther, on the other hand, continued to examine Merlin like he was the prize of his collection. 

If Merlin could have spared Arthur the pain of this betrayal, he would have. Even under ideal circumstances, Arthur learning about Merlin's magic would have been painful. But Uther would twist everything, and Merlin was unable to defend himself at all. No wonder Arthur hated him. 

“And the red lines? What are those?” Arthur reached a hand out as if to touch him, but Merlin jerked away. He couldn't move more than a few inches before the manacles scraped pain into his skin. The movement joggled his fingers, reigniting the burning of the broken bones. 

Arthur pulled his hand back sharply, almost as if he had touched a live coal instead of empty air.

Uther held no similar hesitation. He stepped close and traced the skin on Merlin's chest with a gloved finger. He followed the path where the chain had lain before the sealing. Merlin tried to twist away, but there was nowhere for him to go. 

“This is the path of binding. At the moment of sealing a sorcerer’s magic, the chain burns like white fire and sinks beneath the skin. It stays there permanently, destroying any magic that might try to take hold. Any danger the boy might pose has been neutralised.”

Uther’s fingers followed the mark the binding had left, tracing it down Merlin's torso until he arrived at his cock. He grabbed the length roughly, and Merlin grunted with pain. The place Uther had previously bitten him stung and pulsed with heat, likely infected. Uther fondled and stroked at Merlin's cock, but it didn't respond. Then he jerked at it harshly, and Merlin cried out in pain through the gag. 

“You'll learn to respond to your king, boy, you'll see. Or you certainly will if you know what's good for you!” Uther kept stroking roughly; the swelling pain raised bumps on Merlin's thighs.

“Father!” 

Merlin closed his eyes and wished he could disappear. Arthur hating him didn't make the shame of this any easier to bear. Merlin could try to pretend he was alone with Uther, but when Arthur spoke the reality of his presence came flooding in. The man he would gladly die for was witnessing his debasement, pleased to see him getting what he deserved. 

“You'll have your turn, Arthur. I might be his king, but you were his master. I know his betrayal cuts you deeply, but there will be plenty of time to return the favour. I want to show—”

“Father!” Arthur's voice crashed through the room like an angry boar. “What are you _doing_?”

Was Arthur so eager to have his revenge that he couldn't even wait for the king to finish whatever twisted torment he was planning?Did Arthur hate him that badly?

“I am showing you the meaning of power. You can't possibly understand the thrill of having such strength bound at your feet, but you will learn.”

And then Uther leaned over and took Merlin’s length into his mouth. He sucked like a starving infant at the teat, no attempt to make it feel good, only a desperate attempt to pull out whatever was hidden inside. And it would be effective, sooner or later. Merlin could already feel his body responding. 

It was horrible: so much pain and shame and frustration that he couldn't control even this, the most intimate of reactions. 

“Father!” Arthur said again. “Stop!”

Surprisingly, Uther did. As the king moved away, Merlin's erect cock was on clear display. He had the sudden wish to cut it off—so it could no longer betray him. And then maybe Uther wouldn't want him anymore. Maybe he could be executed and be done with. 

“You see how he likes it. Born for this, weren't you, boy?”

“I don't see how this can possibly be the way to deal with a sorcerer? Shouldn't there be a trial, at least? And then execution? That's the law of the land, the law that _you_ implemented.”

Uther sighed. “You don't understand. But how could you? Go on then. Take your turn.”

“What do you mean? I'm not going to—”

Merlin's eyes popped open to get a better idea of what Arthur might be thinking. It was comforting to know that he still maintained his sense of justice. Of course that shouldn't change just because Merlin was a traitor, but crazy things happened. Just look at what had happened when Ygraine had died. 

Arthur didn't want to torture him. He only hated him and was privy to his shame and wanted to execute him. That was a slight improvement. 

“You will do as I command. Take the boy in your mouth, and you will understand.”

“No, I won't. It's not right.” Arthur stepped away from the bed, backing up until he was pressed against the wall near the portrait of Balinor. He glanced at the hooks and knives and other items hanging from the walls and sitting on the table. “What is this place? This isn't new. Have you been using it all these years?” Arthur’s voice sounded accusatory and incredulous, both. 

“You forget yourself, Arthur. I am your _king_. You will not question me, or I will have you arrested for treason.” Uther’s voice was cold, tight with anger. It was more threatening than the voice he normally used when berating Arthur; more like the way he would speak when announcing a sentence for a sorcerer. 

“But—”

“Not another word. Now do as I command.”

Arthur didn't move but continued to glare at Uther, who glared right back. Merlin could see the ebb and flow of their mental battle in the posture and tension of their bodies. At first Arthur seemed unbreakable, but after a short while Merlin could see a tremor in his arms and jaw. He had observed Arthur often enough and intently enough to know he was fighting uncertainty. Eventually Arthur hunched his shoulders and dipped his chin, but still did not move towards Merlin. 

At last, Uther broke the silence. “Arthur. I see that this is hard for you. But you have to realise that this sorcerer has been manipulating you for two years now, turning you against me, your king that knows best for you, your father who loves you. Your hesitation is proof of the insidious influence he's had. Come. This won't even hurt him; I daresay he'll rather enjoy it. And you need to understand the secrets of his power. You'll see.”

Merlin could tell the moment doubt overtook Arthur's objections; his posture curled inwards like a plant deprived of water. He said nothing but walked over to the bed as if compelled by an invisible force. Perhaps the hold his father had over him was as powerful as a physical push. 

Arthur never looked at Merlin's face, and Merlin didn't know if that was good or not. Instead he leaned over the bed and placed his mouth right above Merlin's cock. His breath was warm, but Merlin shivered anyway. There was a long pause, and then Arthur began. Whereas Uther had taken him completely in from the beginning, Arthur licked at his cock gently, as if it were a delightful meal that he wanted to last. He was careful to avoid the inflamed bite mark, and Merlin wondered at that. But of course Arthur was too noble to hurt someone that way, even if he hated them. 

This gentle treatment was more effective than Uther’s approach. Merlin felt himself turning hard again almost immediately. Perhaps part of his reaction was just that it was _Arthur_. He had dreamed of this—of Arthur pleasuring him—before, though never like this. Never forced, never hated, never for some unfathomable reason that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with power. 

Arthur pulled away. “This isn't right.”

“It's a kindness compared to the pyre. Now do it, or I'll have you flogged for disobedience.”

“Is that really what you want, _sire_?” Arthur said the title with all the disrespect Merlin usually put into the word. “You so badly want to disregard _your own laws_ to torture someone that you would flog your only son for refusing? You, the crowned King of Camelot, have decreed that all sorcerers be put to death. Not— _whatever the hell this is_!”

Merlin had thought that at this point he was beyond the ability to be shocked by anything. But he was wrong. He never thought he'd see Arthur risk flogging to oppose his father. It was a huge relief, because if Arthur could avoid corruption and uphold his sense of justice, there could still be hope for his golden destiny. 

Merlin wouldn't be there to see it, of course. He would be executed for sorcery, the first example of Arthur's justice fulfilled. But that was a relief, really. Much better that than to be a tormented sex slave forevermore. 

“Sometimes the king must be above the law.” Uther had a long-suffering tone in his voice, as if he had tried to explain this many times before but was saddled with a son too stupid to understand. “Someone must be, or who would have the authority to make necessary changes?”

“Is that why you had an official Dragonlord at court but then started a purge against magic? Did that constitute ‘necessary changes?’” Arthur's voice was scathing, overflowing with anger. Merlin wondered at the intensity of it. “What could cause such an abrupt switch? Was my mother's ghost telling the truth? You once used magic freely? I was conceived through magic, but you wouldn't take responsibility for my mother's death?”

“Of course not!” Uther yelled. “I was betrayed by sorcerers like Nimueh and Balinor. They revealed to me the true nature of magic. I knew then that I had to stamp it out. Even your traitorous servant agreed! You heard him say that Morgause wanted to turn you against me. It's how the sorcerers plan to overthrow us.”

Merlin's heart sank. It was true: he _had_ convinced Arthur that magic was evil with his own words. He had thought that if Arthur killed his father, he would never forgive himself. In hindsight, maybe that wasn't the smartest decision. Maybe he should have let Uther die. 

Arthur was clearly torn. Merlin could see the indecision physically pulling him in two directions, towards the bed and away from it in tiny spasms. 

“Even so, this isn't right. This kind of abuse is wrong, no matter how deserving the recipient might be.”

“I see you're not ready… not ready to seize power… not ready to be the king Camelot needs. I would have thought you'd be eager to have the boy, considering how you look at him all the time. Actually, I'm surprised you weren't fucking him already.” 

Uther looked at Merlin, leering. “The gods know I would have been. But since you're clearly not ready for this gift, I will keep it for myself. Perhaps a demonstration of what you are missing would be in order. And then you will report to the captain to receive five lashes. Do not forget who I am, Arthur. I am your king, and I will not be defied. Now stay there, or I will double the sentence.”

Uther turned his back on Arthur and came to the bed. He was furious; Merlin could see it in every line of his face, the tension in his muscles, the dark void in eyes that usually contained _some_ vitality, even if it was relentlessly grim. This didn't bode well for Merlin at all. 

He expected for the king to finish the job Arthur had failed to complete, but instead Uther unlocked Merlin's wrists from the manacles attached to the headboard. Merlin instinctively crossed his arms over his torso, a pointless attempt to protect himself. Uther grabbed the rope dangling from the hook in the ceiling and tied his wrists together. Once the rope was secure, Uther unlocked the manacles around Merlin's ankles and hoisted him back up until he was hanging by his wrists again. It burned, and memories of the terror and agony of the binding washed over him in paralysing waves. 

Uther left him hanging while he went to a table covered with tools. Merlin was positioned to look straight at Arthur, who once again stood next to the portrait of Balinor. They stared at each other. Merlin tried to convey to Arthur all his sorrow and regret for being a sorcerer in Camelot and for the lies he had told— but he would never apologise for the fact that he was born a warlock; he would go to his grave fighting for the recognition of the inherent goodness of magic.

For his part, Arthur looked devastated. Merlin had hoped that the prince would realise that even though Merlin had magic, he was still on Arthur's side, that he was neither evil nor a traitor. It was too painful to look at. Merlin dropped his head in shame. 

Uther returned with a wicked-looking whip. Bits of sharp metal had been woven into the leather of the lash, designed to rip skin out painfully. It also had a higher chance of being fatal, which was fine for Merlin. It was surprising that Uther would be so careless, though; he had previously wanted to keep Merlin alive. Perhaps he was so furious at Arthur that he was beyond logic. And it looked like he was going to take it out on Merlin. 

“What are you doing?” Arthur asked, voice sharp as the metal in the whip. 

“I promised the boy punishment for getting Balinor killed and for disobeying me. I plan to administer it before having my fun. I want you to watch and know that there are consequences for going against your king.”

Uther gave Merlin little time to prepare. He raised the whip and it came cracking down on Merlin's back. It burnt as hot as the binding chain had, severe pain following the path where the lash impacted. Feeling the skin rip and shred added an extra dimension of horror to the experience. Merlin moaned through the gag. 

“Stop!” Arthur yelled. “Stop! You'll kill him!”

Uther brought the whip down again, and this time Merlin screamed; with the cloth in his mouth it came out as more of a strangled choking sound. 

“Father! Don't do this!”

But Uther didn't answer. The jagged lash fell again and again. Reality was slipping away from Merlin now. He tried to look to Arthur, to gaze upon the man he loved as death overtook him; but Arthur was gone. He had gone and left Merlin alone in this hell. Probably for the best, since Arthur hated him so. 

Merlin could hear shouting, but his ears were fuzzy and he couldn't tell what anyone said. All he knew was pain and the rhythm of the next blow. He tensed, waiting for it to come—

And then nothing. 

There was yelling, multiple screams, a thump. Something bulky crashed to the floor in front of Merlin. He must be hallucinating from the pain. Nothing else would explain why Uther Pendragon lay at his feet with a knife plunged through his chest.


	7. Chapter 7

Once, when he was young and just beginning to step into leadership roles, Arthur had led a raid on a druid camp. It had been ordered by his father, but it was Arthur's mission and he felt responsible for all that had happened. And what _had_ happened was an utter nightmare of pain and death. Arthur's men ( _not_ Uther’s men, no matter what Gaius said) had not spared the women and children as ordered, and Arthur had been impotent to stop them. The horror mixed with intense guilt had been paralysing. The events of that day haunted him still. 

But this situation, here and now in his father's secret dungeon… this was so much worse. He was frozen with shock and terror. And guilt. The guilt was like acid eating through his muscles, leaving a collection of bones with no support. Falling would be inevitable. 

Later he might consider how both of these terrible situations had been caused by his father, and what this might mean. But for now, all was consumed by the knowledge that the two most important people in his life were both dying—or dead—and that it was _all his fault._

First and foremost, Arthur had thrust a knife through his father's ribcage. There was no way to deny what he had done. His father—the king—was probably dead because of him. 

And though he hadn't been the one holding the whip, Arthur had doomed Merlin with his indecision. If he had acquiesced to his father and engaged in his madness, Uther wouldn't have been furious and wouldn't have taken his anger out on Merlin. Or if Arthur had decided sooner that his father was insane, he could have stopped him before the flogging and Merlin would have been fine.

Perhaps he could have saved them both. 

Arthur's decisions—or lack thereof—had led to this moment, and he froze with the immensity of it. Just like when the raid on the druid camp had gone so horribly wrong, he was stuck, uncertain of what action could possibly help. Stymied. 

A groan shook him from his stupor. How long had Arthur been frozen there, useless? Seconds? Minutes? Damn, damn, damn, he needed to fix this. _Now_. 

Arthur still stood where he had stabbed his father. It was behind Merlin, a perfect spot to see the bloody disaster the whip had carved. His father lay on the floor practically underneath Merlin's dangling feet, utterly still. Not moaning, so it must have been Merlin making the noise. He was alive, at least, but would he stay that way without Gaius?

Decision made, Arthur left both Merlin and Uther as they were and exited the chamber. He had to get Gaius here quickly. Gaius would do his utmost to keep Merlin alive. (He would certainly do the same for Uther, if Arthur asked it of him, but the thought was nauseating.) 

Once Arthur had assistance, he would be able to move Merlin safely. He needed someone to untie the rope and lower Merlin into Arthur's arms. Dropping someone that badly injured onto a dirty floor was a recipe for pain followed by infection. 

As he left through the secret door to Uther’s library, Merlin groaned louder, more desperately. Was he aware Arthur was leaving him and thought he was being abandoned entirely?

 _Hold on, Merlin, be patient. Wait for me. I'll be back soon. I will take care of you. I promise._ But there was no time to tell him this. Arthur was already outside his father's chambers. No one was in the hallway. No guards, no servants. It must be the late hours of the night. He was going to yell for help but thought better of it. Arthur had stabbed the King of Camelot. He needed to think carefully about who could know. He could run quicker than an unmotivated servant, anyway. 

So he ran. He ran as if his life depended on it—which it felt like it did. When he reached Gaius’ door, he pounded desperately. Gaius answered in nightclothes, but Arthur wouldn't let him change. 

“Gaius”—gasp for breath—”I need you”—pant, pant—”right now!”

Gaius grabbed his medical bag, and then they were off, racing through the halls, Arthur pulling Gaius along as fast as he could get the old man to move. If anyone saw them, they would wonder, but Arthur would deal with that later. 

Arthur had been in such a rush that he hadn't prepared Gaius at all for the sight that awaited. He dragged him into the library, and Gaius paused, startled, when he saw the door that had previously been hidden behind a movable bookcase. Arthur didn't allow any questions, just pushed him into the secret room. 

Perhaps he should have been more careful to warn Gaius about what he would find, but honestly, he'd barely been able to keep himself together. He had been torn in opposite directions, love for his father and love for Merlin warring with each other, flaying him as surely as if Uther had whipped him instead of his servant. 

As he had watched the lash fly through the air, jagged metal claws shining dully in the candlelight, Arthur had become certain: he loved Merlin. He couldn't deny it. It felt as if each crack of the lash landed directly on Arthur, burning him from the outside in. He tried to endure it, oh, how he struggled to not intervene. How could he turn against his father for a _sorcerer_? 

But his soul was shattering into pieces. There was no way that he could go on without Merlin, none. These past few weeks without his normal, happy, teasing servant had been excruciating. At least then Arthur could cling to the hope that Merlin would snap out of whatever malaise he was stuck in. But if he were dead—

Scalding hot anger unlike anything Arthur had experienced before completely overloaded his nervous system. His muscles launched into action before he was aware that a decision had been reached. His hand found one of the knives his father had laid out on the table, and only after that did Arthur realise what he would do. 

There had been a moment though—a hesitation. How could he kill the king he was sworn to protect and serve? The whip landed on Merlin's back yet again, but this time Arthur could see it. He could see the blood welling up in criss-crossing stripes across the pale skin. Bright red drops streaked downwards, pulled by gravity over the swell of Merlin's arse and onto the floor. Along Merlin's cleft, blood had dried in clumps. Arthur stared at it, frowning. Had his father really been so brutal? As he burned with fury, Arthur's eyes were drawn to the chunks of flesh being ripped up by the jagged metal pieces woven into the leather cords. 

“Come to see how it's done, have you?” Uther sneered at him. “You've lost your chance for today, but maybe—”

Arthur screamed and plunged the knife through his father's back. It was cowardly to strike a man from behind—but he had to do something _right that second_ or Merlin might die. 

He yanked the knife out and spun Uther around. The least Arthur could do was look his father in the eye as he betrayed him. 

Uther yelled, but it was indecipherable, though whether his voice was clouded from injury or Arthur's ears buzzed with too much adrenaline wasn't clear. He thought he heard “enchanted” and “no son of mine”—maybe—but it had all been like a nightmare where nothing made sense. 

After that Uther had pulled out a dagger of his own and aimed it at Arthur's throat. He probably was too weak to cause much damage, but the battle instinct took over and Arthur plunged his knife through his father's chest before the man could cause any more damage than he had already wrought. 

Arthur felt the energy drain from his father's body. He refused to support him any longer. The King of Camelot fell to the floor in an undignified heap under the feet of the boy he had tortured and defiled, stabbed by his only son. Was he dead? Arthur hesitated to check, and in the end had run for Gaius instead. 

Now that Gaius was here, Arthur prodded him into the secret room and followed quickly on his heels. The interior was darker than the corridors had been. The single candle had at one time shone brightly, but now it was almost burnt out. It still valiantly clung to life, and Arthur desperately hoped that Merlin did the same. 

A pained moan woke Arthur from his daze. 

“Merlin! You have to help him!” Arthur’s voice shook; he was trembling. Damn it, he had to hold it together. Now was not the time to fall apart. 

He could tell the moment that Gaius understood what he was looking at. There was an anguished gasp, and Gaius swayed dangerously upon his feet, clasping his hands to his chest. Arthur reached out to support him (the way he hadn't with his father). They clung together for the briefest of moments. Then Gaius noticed the body on the floor. 

“The king?” he whispered, shaking in Arthur's arms. 

Arthur took a deep breath and pressed strength back into his own quivering muscles by sheer willpower. 

“Help Merlin first. I couldn't get him down by myself without hurting him. I'll need to catch him while you loosen the rope.”

Gaius stared at the scene. Merlin’s eyes fluttered, and he moaned again. 

“Gaius! He needs you. _I_ need you. Come help…”

Arthur showed Gaius where the rope was tied and gave him a knife to cut the knot. Then he positioned himself in front of Merlin. He would drape him over his shoulder and avoid touching his shredded back—but damn, it was hard to think about. Why was he so reluctant? He had done similar actions for other wounded. Why was it so hard this time? 

Because it's Merlin. 

Because you love him. 

Arthur ignored the voices in his head and got Merlin into position. “Ready,” he announced to Gaius, who cut the rope. As Merlin's body folded over his shoulder, Arthur wondered at how fragile he seemed, a porcelain figurine already broken. Would it be at all possible to put him back together?

Arthur didn't want to consider it. 

He placed Merlin stomach-down on the bed. It was hard to disregard the mangled state of his back, but Arthur had to or he'd be useless. Now was the time for competence and strength, not for fear and sorrow. 

Gaius checked Merlin over briefly. “He isn't in danger of dying right this moment, sire. Should I check on the king?”

“He's dead.” Arthur announced it like a proclamation of the court. 

Was Uther dead? He didn't know. If he wasn't, he would be soon. Arthur had just decreed it. 

At that moment he knew there would be no going back. He had killed his father for the sake of a sorcerer. 

And now he would be king. 

Gaius grabbed his medical bag and awkwardly laid the items he needed on the coverlet. Arthur went to the table holding the knives and torture devices and swept then off with a violent swing of his arm. He missed a few. Those he grabbed one at a time and hurled against the wall. 

Gaius looked up, startled, but didn't say a word. Once the table was clear, Arthur dragged it to where Gaius could use it. Arthur laid out the supplies with shaking hands while Gaius began. Arthur refused to look at Merlin. It wasn't at all knight-like, but he feared what he would see. 

Torture had never affected him this badly before, either his or others’. He had been trained to endure, trained to overcome. There had been no training about how to survive a broken heart— No, not a broken heart. Whatever this was, it was something else. Something… more. Almost like his soul was dying. 

Merlin groaned again, a muffled, anguished sound—still gagged. As Arthur hurried to cut it off, the gorge rose in his throat. His carelessness in the face of such suffering appalled him. He had been so focused on his own misery that he hadn't done even this one basic thing to help Merlin be more comfortable. 

After that Arthur was more helpful. Merlin seemed unconscious, though his eyes flickered open and tormented sounds came from his throat. Arthur wet a cloth and dripped water into his parched mouth, taking care that Merlin didn't choke. Then he used more cloths to gently clean what he could reach. 

Everything below the shoulders he left to Gaius, who worked at a slow and steady pace: clean with some sort of herbal concoction, cover with unguent, sew, apply more creams, bandage. It was an endless process, gruesome and heartbreaking, and Arthur wasn't sure how Gaius managed to do it so calmly. For his part, Arthur's muscles were trembling and he couldn't get them to stop. 

Gaius barely spoke, only occasionally asking Arthur to hand him something. Once he sent him back to the physician's chambers to fetch additional supplies. Of the situation, he said nothing. No word about Merlin, and though Arthur occasionally saw him looking at the body lying on the floor, nothing about Uther either. 

Arthur lost track of all the different things Gaius treated. He had at some point splinted the two middle fingers. There was a horrible stretch where he shook his head and spread healing ointment in the most intimate of places. He carefully poured tonics down his throat. Merlin had roused just enough to swallow but that was all. 

At last Gaius finished. Arthur asked a question even though he didn't want to hear the answer. “Will he be okay?”

Gaius hung his head, and Arthur expected the worst. 

“He has a good chance, as long as infection doesn't set in.” Arthur couldn't help thinking that Gaius wasn't telling him everything, but maybe he was just as exhausted as Arthur. 

“And…” Gaius continued, seeming reluctant to speak. “The king, sire? Do you wish—”

“In the morning, his manservant will find him in his bed, victim of an assassin. I will, of course, be devastated. Do you understand?”

The words had burst out of his mouth without warning, without thought. Gaius nodded once, and that was it. Arthur had made his choice. 

“Can Merlin be safely moved?” Once the first decision had been made, Arthur found that others became easier. It was time to take action. 

“I'd rather he not move yet, unless for great necessity. Though if he were to stay here, I would need more supplies, and possibly an assistant.”

Arthur had expected as much. He was not yet ready for his father's secret torture chamber to become public knowledge. Silas undoubtedly knew of its existence, but Arthur doubted anyone else did. 

The thought of Silas made Arthur uncomfortable. He was a creep and clearly partial to evil deeds, but he had been following the king's orders. Did he deserve to be censured for loyal service? Punished? 

On the other hand, he might be aware of Uther’s other secrets, secrets that Arthur would need to know. Perhaps if he could get Silas to serve him as he had his father…

He'd have to worry about that later. 

“No one else can know what has happened here. I can't give you an assistant. Once Merlin's moved, I'll consider it.”

Gaius frowned but didn't object. 

Arthur continued on, rushing to get the words out. “Is there anything you will need? When Silas discovers what the assassin has done, you will be called. You will need to be in your chambers then. Afterwards, there will be an investigation in the king's chambers. You will need to stay with Merlin hidden. No one can know about this.”

“Sire—”

“I will not have my father remembered as anything other than a great king!” Arthur stopped abruptly when he realised he was yelling. He inhaled deeply and paused, willing himself to hold it together. “I… I owe him that much.”

Gaius frowned, eyes shining brightly in the way they do when holding back tears. It was hard for Arthur to get a read on him. He knew that Gaius and Uther had been friends of a sort, but Gaius was also Merlin's guardian and loved the boy deeply. Perhaps he was as torn as Arthur. 

“After you confirm his death—”

“Is he truly dead, sire? Did you check?”

“Yes. He is dead.” Arthur hadn't checked. He didn't know. But he had chosen his path. If his father was still alive when Arthur moved him, he would slit his throat. End the suffering.

“Afterwards, I'll shut you in here to care for Merlin. You cannot come out unless I fetch you. No one can know. I will say that you have retired to your chambers to be alone with your grief and no one is to disturb you. Understand?”

Every time Arthur looked at Gaius, it seemed like he had shriveled in on himself even more. 

“And what of Merlin? What will you say when he is not around?”

Arthur needed a cover story that might explain the injuries. “As for now, he's gone to visit his mother. He might run into bandits along the way. But for now, if anyone asks, just say he went to Ealdor.”

“Yes, sire.”

“Good. Now help me move the king.”

They went to the king's bedchamber first, arranging the bed to look as if it had been slept in. Arthur drew the curtains, set the candle on the table next to the bed just as Uther always did, and poured a goblet half-full of water to look like it had been partially drunk. When all was set, he forced himself back to the secret room. His feet struggled to cooperate; it was like walking through thick spiderwebs that tried to pull him back, keep him away. But he dragged himself there. He ignored Merlin—his heart would break if he looked, and he couldn't afford that weakness now. 

Uther lay as he had when Arthur had dropped him, crumpled, bloody, lifeless. He looked older this way, with none of his usual vitality. Wrinkled and saggy and worn. How had Arthur not noticed this before? He had always had such a glorious vision of his great father, the mighty king that he forever tried to emulate but never could. If Arthur had been blind to his appearance, what else had he failed to notice?

There would be time enough for regrets and guilt later. 

He lifted Uther carefully, arms under neck and knees, trying to keep the blood off his clothing. Everything Arthur was wearing would be burnt, later, an attempt to clean away the filth and the muck he had encountered tonight. But better to not have blood stains to explain if someone appeared unexpectedly. 

He lay his father in his bed and arranged the deep red coverings to look as if he'd been attacked while asleep. Hopefully only Gaius would notice that Uther had been stabbed in the front and the back. That would be a strange thing for an assassin to do to a victim reclined in bed. But stranger things had happened. 

At last the scene was as he wished. Gaius went to check on Merlin one more time, and then left to his own chambers without a word, leaving the medical supplies behind. All was silent. When Arthur went to shut the secret doors, he couldn't bear ignoring Merlin any longer. Merlin lay as they had left him, on his stomach, back entirely hidden behind bandages. Blood was seeping through many of them, and it made Arthur sick. 

He placed his hand on Merlin's hair and began to stroke it, so gently, so carefully. But for now he had to see him, touch him, know that he was still there. How could Arthur go on without him? He needed him so damned much it hurt. How had he never noticed that before? Too busy chasing after his father's approval?

“I'm going to fix this, Merlin. I promise. Don't you give up on me, because I refuse to give up on you. Understand? I need you. So you better get back here. Just think of all the work that's piling up for you… I'm sure Gaius will need the leech tank cleaned, too.”

Arthur paused, reluctant to continue with what he had to say next. 

“I'm sorry I to leave you for awhile… I'll be back, I promise. Just—get better, all right? Get better.”

He wiped away the tears from his eyes and pressed a gentle kiss to Merlin's brow. Then he forced himself upright and went to check that the king was dead. 

The emotions he felt while approaching his father's body were tangled and chaotic. Anger, sadness, horror, despair, regret, guilt, grief. It was too much to deal with. He needed to just do his job and leave. 

Arthur pressed his fingers to his father's throat. Nothing. He repositioned and tried again… and this time felt the lightest of throbs. Was it Arthur just feeling the blood pulse through his own fingers? 

But then he saw a slight inhalation. Uther was still alive. The chances of him surviving must be miniscule. Arthur tried to tell himself it was a mercy to end his suffering. How could he, though? Strike an injured man? Kill his father?

He grabbed his knife and readied it, but then paused. Arthur closed his eyes. Images flashed through his mind, blood, whips, magic users burnt alive, the portrait of the dead dragonlord, his father laughing maniacally, Merlin completely broken. It was clear that his father had been filled with hypocrisy, insanity, and evil. Uther had made his choice, and now Arthur would make his. 

A quick swipe. A gush of blood. 

The King of Camelot was dead.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> If you would like to chat with other Merlin fans (readers, writers, artists, lurkers, etc.), you are welcome to come to the Merlin chat room. It's super fun and everyone is welcome. There are lots of older fans there too, so don't think it's just for the young ’uns. You can find info here:  http://merlin-chat.livejournal.com


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